


Doomed To Repeat

by Baamon5evr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Brother-Sister Relationships, Complicated Relationships, Female Relationships, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Good Brother, Mental Health Issues, No Incest, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Season/Series 06, Postpartum Depression, Psychological Trauma, R Plus L Equals J, Unplanned Pregnancy, Women In Power, because Ramsay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baamon5evr/pseuds/Baamon5evr
Summary: Sansa was acting strangely. Jon saw it more and more every day. She was distant lately, jumpy, distracted. She would eat sparingly at breakfast with him in the mornings, instead lost in her own thoughts. He was concerned. He couldn't have guessed what the answer would be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that theory way back when that Sansa was pregnant with Ramsay's child? Well, this is that fic. Warnings for past rape and abuse because Sansa/Ramsay. I am late to the train, but this story wouldn't leave me alone. See the end for more notes.

**283 AC**

_Ned had always wanted children, even from a young age, and not all the time just because he had wanted to be a father, but he knew what having children meant for a noble house. There were a few times when House Stark had been on the brink of extinction. His own father had been the only remaining bastion of the main bloodline of the Starks, which was why he married his cousin, Lyarra, to strengthen the bloodlines again. Children were needed to carry on a house’s legacy, his father always said, and Ned listened. He learned this just as well living with Jon Arryn. His first wife, Jeyne Royce, died giving birth to a stillborn girl. His second wife, Lady Rowena, died due to a winter chill with no children. Lord Arryn’s nephew became his heir, his to hone and to raise. For Ned, it wasn’t a bad thing or untoward. He had enjoyed growing up with Elbert as much as he had with Robert. Elbert was different from their Stormlord friend. He was quieter, but not as quiet as Ned. He was knightly, gallant and kind but he could exhibit a temper to rival Robert’s if pushed to it. Elbert had been as indignant as any Northman when Lyanna disappeared and he rode to King’s Landing with Brandon, where he met his death at the hands of King Aerys._

_Then Brandon and his father were dead too and Ned only retroactively understood the worry of previous members of House Stark about their house’s longevity. It wasn’t until he was on his way to Dorne to get Lyanna back that he reflected just how much of a precipice his house had been on. Brandon dead with no children, Ned fighting a war with no children, Benjen a child himself, Lyanna gone. But he couldn’t save Lya and she had left him with a child he now had to worry about._

_“I could take him. He’d be hidden away at Greywater Watch. No one would ever need to know, they certainly wouldn’t hear it from me. Jyana and I have a girl that was just born to us. We will say we had twins. Who could know we do not tell the truth?” Howland offered as Ned knelt by Lyanna’s still form, one of his hands still clutching onto her limp fingers, her babe fussing in the crook of his other arm. He felt numb staring at her. All this time looking for her, worrying for her and she was…_

_“Ned? Ned, did you hear me? Ned!” Howland said, snapping him out of his thoughts._

_“I…” He paused for a moment, thinking about it. He could send the boy with him. Howland loved Lyanna like a sister, he would keep her son safe. He would be hidden among the swamps with the crannogman. Robert wouldn’t get to him there, no one would. He looked down at the babe. He had wisps of black hair atop his head and Lyanna’s brown eyes. Ned was glad for it, it was better that he looked more like a Stark than a Targaryen. Ned shook his head at Howland after a long silence._

_“Lyanna asked me to protect him, me. I made a promise. He is my duty. I cannot shirk it off onto you. I will take him.” Ned decided._

 

**304 AC**

Sansa was acting strangely, Jon saw it more and more every day. His sister had changed much from the girl she was in their youth, the bratty lady who simpered all day about princes meant to save her. She was much colder now, aloof in some respects, but Jon saw the change for what it was: his sister was wounded, damaged, shaped into steel made flesh due to the abuse and hardships she was made to endure at the hands of others.

It angered him on the best of days when he thought of her being shuffled into the hands of one monster to the next: the Lannisters, Baelish, the Boltons, even her own aunt. Sansa had told him that Lady Lysa had tried to kill her, partly thanks to Baelish. Jon hated having the man at Winterfell. It was clear he had his own machinations going on and he was too familiar with Sansa. She often waved him off, said she could handle the weaselly man. Jon wondered if he was the reason Sansa was distant lately, jumpy, distracted. She would eat sparingly at breakfast with him in the mornings, instead lost in her own thoughts. He was concerned. He had asked her if she was okay more than once, but she would always claim she was fine and that he should not worry. It was hard not to.

He walked towards the solar now, blessedly alone. Being king meant the constant harassment of the lords of the North, who had decided three moons was a long enough time period to play contrite and apologetic and moved on to trying to curry favor and favors from him. The lords of the Vale weren’t much better, some threatening to withdraw support if not given what they wanted, and there was the matter of the Riverlands which was still unaddressed. They had been a part of Robb’s kingdom. They still needed to be liberated. Walder Frey along with many of his sons and grandsons were killed and Lord Edmure let out of the Freys’ dungeons by an unknown assailant, but the Riverlands was still full of Lannister soldiers and Westerland bandits and ruffians. Cersei Lannister could not be relied upon to care about the continued pillaging and rape of the region; her stunt with the Great Sept of Baelor demonstrated how little she cared for the people of Westeros, but the North and the Vale had to prepare for the Night King. The lords were split on what to do. Half wanted to break the army apart and have a portion march south to clean the Riverlands up, the other half cautioned that breaking their army apart had ruined Robb and that they needed to prepare for the Night King, the deadlier of their enemies. Plus, the reports of a Dragon Queen from Essos planning to move towards Westeros were appearing more and more to be factual. No decision had been reached and Jon was exhausted. He had hoped Sansa would be at the meeting. They disagreed on things sometimes, but she was also his main supporter, and she would have brought a new perspective to the conversation, but both she and Lady Brienne were absent.

He opened the door to his father’s solar (he still could not think of it as anyone else’s much less his own) and was surprised to see Sansa and Lady Brienne there. They were sitting by the fire, a blanket wrapped over Sansa’s shoulders and Ghost curled up at her feet. She looked tired. There were bags under her eyes. Lady Brienne had a hand on the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles.

“What’s this?” He asked carefully, unsure about the scene. Lady Brienne spared him a glance before giving his sister a meaningful look. Sansa nodded in reply and the tall woman stood up, gave Jon a nod of respect and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, approaching her with measured steps.

“No.”

Jon was momentarily surprised at her candor but continued to walk until he stood beside her. He indicated to the spot Lady Brienne vacated and Sansa nodded her consent for him to sit. She stared into the fires with an intensity and grimness that brought to mind their father. Sansa looked like her mother, always had. There was precious little Stark to be found in her in her youth, but the older she became the more angular her face became, and the severity of her demeanor made her look like Father in a way even Jon did not.

“What is it?” He asked, not liking her stillness.

“You’ve not converted to the Lord of Light, have you? I thought we got rid of all those fire worshippers.” He continued, trying to inject some levity into the heavy silence. Sansa cracked a humorless smile.

“I have not been feeling well of late.” She stated needlessly. Jon nodded.

“I noticed.”

“I was content to ignore it, there are things of more importance to deal with and I did not want to be slowed down. Brienne convinced me to see about myself a few days ago and so I visited Maester Wolkan about it.” Jon felt his heart beating faster in anticipation.

“And?”

“And… he says… he says that I am pregnant.” Jon stared at Sansa after the announcement. He wanted to say something, in his head the words strung together to form a sentence but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. The silence stretched and Sansa glanced at him before her face twisted with mirth and delicate giggles left her.

“Something will fly into your mouth if you continue to leave it agape.” Jon shook his head and remembered himself.

“That’s… it’s… I mean…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. Pregnant? Dark thoughts clouded his head suddenly. There were only two options he could think of. He decided to suggest the lesser of two evils first.

“Baelish?” He had seen the way he leered at her, invaded her space, lingered touches upon her. Sansa shook her head.

“He wishes. I almost wish myself, it would be better than Ramsay of all people. I swore all memory of him would disappear and now a walking, talking reminder is growing inside of me.” He could feel sadness exuding from her, could see it in the slope of her shoulders and the dimness of her eyes and the set of her lips. He felt that sadness overtaking him. He did not know if he could’ve stomached destroying Ramsay Bolton the way Sansa had, and yet he had beaten the man half to death himself, so he could not judge her on her choice of his demise. Whatever was left of him had been burnt along with half of the dogs in the kennels, the ones that could not be retrained. He was meant to be nothing but ash and bad memories, but in this way, he would live on.

“What are you going to do?” Jon asked after a moment of them staring into the fire.

“Customarily, an unwed highborn lady’s father or brother would decide what is to be done with such a woman so disgraced and any child that may result from it.” Sansa stated matter-of-factly, her voice not betraying how she felt about that one way or the other. Jon twisted his lip into a scowl. Often, he and Arya would lament about the unfairness of the world when they were younger and often Jon would make himself feel better by saying he didn’t make the rules. As king, he made the rules now but there was no way he could will himself to make this kind of choice for Sansa.

“After everything that’s happened to you, I can’t in good conscience make this decision for you and then still believe myself to be a good brother to you.” Sansa glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Maester Wolkan says at this stage if I drink moon tea, it comes with risks. I could become grievously ill or develop internal bleeding. He does not like the possibilities and suggests that it is less perilous if I carry it to term.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think… I think this is no time to risk illness, no matter how much I’d like to be rid of this burden.”

“I don’t want you to feel you must continue this pregnancy if you are only doing so so you can help me run the North.”

“We cannot afford for me to be out of commission at a time like this. And Maester Wolkan is right. I’ve been away from the North too long, the cold is getting to me more than it would’ve otherwise and it's not even true winter yet. I fear I would catch a chill if not something worse if I begin a moon tea regiment. Ramsay is not going to be the death of me, not now, not ever. I will carry the babe to term and then decide what to do with it then.” Jon nodded after a moment. He understood Sansa’s reasoning, but he also thought it would be much harder to decide what to do with the child already born. Aborting a non-living fetus still in the womb was not the same as casting aside a living, breathing child. Sansa sighed then.

“Is it awful of me to just want to leave it in the Wolfswood after it is born and be done with it? Does that make me a horrible person?” Jon shook his head in response.

“It makes you human.” He replied diplomatically. Sansa sighed again.

“You’re so… understanding and kind. I would feel better if you had told me I was an evil witch for thinking such a horrendous thing.” Jon shrugged lightly.

“I can say as much if you really want me to, but don’t expect me to mean it. That much I can’t promise.” He held out an arm and Sansa hesitated before tucking herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly.

“Whatever you decide to do, whatever happens, I’ll be by your side the whole time. I’m not turning my back on you no matter what.” Sansa nodded silently against him and returned his embrace.

**~*~*~**

Sansa hated being pregnant. She hated everything about it. She hated the way her appetite changed, the way her body changed. She had to change dresses every few weeks due to the weight she gained. It made her feet hurt. It made walking on the ice and snow more perilous. However, beyond the superficial parts of pregnancy that most every woman loathed, it was the thing growing inside of her that she hated the most. The rapespawn that was leeching life from her in order to exist. She knew hatred in her life. She hated Joffrey and Cersei, she hated the Freys and the Boltons, she hated Ramsay and recently she had come to hate Petyr, but the hatred she felt for the abomination inside of her was something that went deeper. It was Ramsay’s child, a piece of him left behind to remind her of everything he did to her, as if the scars on her body were not enough.

She never told Jon or Brienne the extent of the trauma done to her, and she never would. The only person who knew was Maester Wolkan and that was because he was the one who would see to her wounds after Ramsay had inflicted them, but sometimes she would undress and look at the marks he left behind. There were strips of flesh he had cut from her thighs and forearms, places his father would not see. Only she could notice the scar hidden in the front of her scalp or the ones hidden behind her right ear. He cut her on her stomach, fine even lines that blended in with the stretch marks her protruding belly created. Her left breast was a mess. Scars from bites started from the top of her breast and continued to her nipple, which had been bitten off thanks to the bastard.

 _‘One nipple is enough to feed our children. At least I am leaving you with one, Reek has none and he does not cry over it._ ’ He had said as she wept in pain.

She had thought at the time she would never bear him children and yet here she was, his cursed offspring growing inside of her. She had still not decided what she would do with the child after its birth.

The lords were aware of her condition, it wasn’t as if she could hide it. She was only a couple of moons away from giving birth and she was huge. She had avoided being in their company in the beginning, but she could not avoid them forever, especially not Baelish and she had had to admit she was pregnant. She made no announcement about the child’s father, they could make whatever assumptions they wanted to, she owed them nothing. Baelish had been momentarily stunned but began using her pregnancy as another bargaining chip with her. He treated her delicately, as if she were his wife and the child in her womb was his. He would whisper possible plans to her, ways they could use the child to usurp Jon, usurp Cersei. She had planned to carefully trap him in his own web of lies, but the last plan he had presented to her had set her off.

_‘The child has your blood and that of the Boltons. False lords or not, they were the former lords of the North and you are Ned Stark’s eldest trueborn daughter. Why should your child have less claim to the North than your bastard brother?’_

She had been incensed. Him trying to undermine Jon to her was typical of him, but that he would suggest she depose her brother and install this… this beast inside of her as king, Ramsay’s child as king, had been more than she could take. She had shouted and yelled, drawing the attention of others. She had been so wrapped up in her tirade that she ignored the light-headed feeling until she crumbled in a heap at his feet. Maester Wolkan thought she was over-exerting herself and so now she was place on bedrest. Another reason to hate pregnancy and the thing inside of her. The only good thing it wrought was that Jon had been so upset about Sansa’s health scare that he had banished Baelish from the North with no protest from the Vale lords, seeing as how they witnessed her spill and heard her accusations of treason against him. That embarrassed her, they must think of her as waifish and weak. Jon dismissed that, assuring her that they respected her.

Jon stuck by her side just as he said he would. He and Brienne were her support system. Jon would visit her almost every day, would bring her gifts and talk to her about the council, reminisce on their childhood, read stories to her. Brienne was ever attentive, guarding her with the fierceness of a she-wolf. She would fulfill any request Sansa had, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. She would massage Sansa’s aching feet and back every night before she went to sleep and share stories of her childhood to get Sansa’s mind off her own dark thoughts. She like learning about Brienne. She was not just her sworn sword now, but her friend. Surprisingly, so was Ser Davos.

She had been lukewarm on the man from the beginning, not trusting him. He had been Stannis’ righthand man, he was a southerner and born in King’s Landing, but he was not like all the other southerners she had met. He was straight-forward, earnest, down-to-earth. He wasn’t a learned man, but he was practical, his intelligence born of experience, not books. He did not treat her any differently, did not look at her like the other lords did, like they wanted to ask her questions they knew she would not want to answer or like they were judging her for things beyond her control. He still treated her as the Lady of Winterfell and Princess of the North. He also strategically slipped suggestions to ease the aches and pains of pregnancy to her and they all proved to be most effective. He visited her everyday while she was on bedrest, even on the days when Jon was too busy to stop by her room, and would relay messages to her and update her on matters of court. He was a paternal soul and despite his more rugged exterior and colorful background, he reminded her of Father sometimes and so over time she became comfortable laying her complaints at his feet. She would grouse of her lack of care for her state to Jon and Brienne, but both could only be sympathetic or laugh at her jokes, not offer solutions. Ser Davos always had a remedy for one of her problems.

“Taste this.” He said, handing over the mug to her as she shifted uncomfortably in her bed. It was just past midday, but Sansa had not eaten. Her stomach was doing somersaults, the babe inside kicking her and making her feel nauseous. Maester Wolkan offered some remedies, but none of them worked. She had mentioned it to Ser Davos the day before and he came to the room today with a tray bearing a mug and a few slices of bread and cheese. She drank the hot liquid from the proffered mug carefully. There was a bitter aftertaste, but the drink warmed her up.

“Give it a few minutes and see if you feel any better, Princess.” The Onion knight suggested, pulling up a chair at the side of her bed. Sansa took another sip whilst looking at the man contemplatively.

“I’ve never asked how you became so knowledgeable about such cures to my ailments, Ser.” Ser Davos cracked a wry smile.

“Well, my wife and me did have seven boys together so I suppose it’s only natural.” Sansa’s eyes widened a little.

“Seven children? I never even knew you were married. Did you meet her in your fearsome pirating days?” Sansa asked, her lips tilting with amusement.

“Ah, I wasn’t a pirate, I was just—”

“Just the smuggler, yes, yes I know. Your wife though? Was she a pirate or a smuggler?” Ser Davos’ smile turned softer.

“Marya is her name. The daughter of a carpenter. I met her while I was still smuggling. She wasn’t a great beauty, but I was no dashing knight either. Our fathers worked together, we became close and marriage seemed a natural step. Her father was reluctant. Given my profession, the risk of Marya being implicated if I were to be caught was high, but she fought against him fiercely. Always outspoken, my Marya. She says our union was blessed by the Gods and our children are proof of it. I never much cared for the Gods, but we were blessed to have seven healthy boys born to us. After the Rebellion, Lord Stannis granted us a keep and lands at Cape Wrath in the Stormlands, more than we had ever thought we would get, but what we had always wanted: land of our own and a stable roof over our heads.” Sansa’s smile became wistful. It sounded like a nice existence, a peaceful one. It wasn’t one she dreamt about in her childhood, she wanted to be a princess not a farmer, but it sounded like a wonderful life to her now.

“Where is your family now?” She asked curiously. A dark look passed over the older man’s face.

“My four eldest, Dale, Allard, Matthos and Meric were knighted by Stannis and joined his army to fight during the War of the Five Kings. They converted to the Lord of Light and listened to everything the Red Woman said. I should’ve… they all drowned or burned during the Battle of Blackwater Bay.” Sansa’s smile dropped from her face. Sometimes, only briefly, but sometimes she forgot that it was not only Northerners and Rivermen who lost during the War of the Five Kings. She could understand even better now why he hated the Red Woman so. She had burned a little girl alive, a girl that the knight had loved as his own daughter, but even before that four of his sons died. A part of him must blame her for that as well.

“I am sorry for your loss, Ser.” Ser Davos said nothing but nodded his appreciation.

“Marya is still at Cape Wrath with our three youngest, Devan, Stannis and Steffon along with Dale’s young widow and her child.”

“ _Her_ child?” Sansa pointed out, the terminology not getting pass her. Ser Davos’ eyes shifted a little uncertainly before he answered.

“War makes beasts of men. Much of the war was fought in the Riverlands but the Stormlands were not without its conflicts. She and Devan were travelling back to Cape Wrath from Storm’s End during the siege Stannis’ men had the castle under and one of the soldiers from the Reach found her and attacked her after she made Devan run. She did not know she was with child until after Dale died and did not know for certain the father until the child was born.”

“Oh.” She uttered, the implication not lost on her.

“Marya wouldn’t see her or the child put out for something out of her control.” Sansa wondered why the woman would ever choose to keep the child, especially if it resembled the man who raped her.

“Extra hands are always important when keeping land but, more than that, she had always wanted a child. It was a cruel way to get what she wanted, but as much as she did not want it, the child was her flesh too and she did not feel comfortable casting the babe aside, especially with Dale dead. She did not think she would have another child after that.” Why would any woman want that? A reminder of the horrible thing that happened to you always there, always present, depending on you to nurture it and help it grow. She couldn’t imagine doing the same.

**~*~*~**

Jon remembered every time Lady Catelyn went into labor. The first, with Sansa, was the haziest but most terrifying. He and Robb were only three at the time and listening to Lady Catelyn’s loud screams of pain had frightened them so much that they had started wailing too. Old Nan could not comfort them no matter how she tried. Back then, Jon had still thought Lady Catelyn was his mother too, even though she was mean to him, and he had thought she was being hurt or dying. Their father had had to take them aside to his solar where they could not hear her screams and comfort them until they stopped crying.

It became something of a tradition. When she went into labor, their father would bring them to his solar and tell them stories about the North of old, about King Robert, about direwolves and princes and princesses and giants riding mammoths. The only exception was Arya. Father had been putting down the Greyjoy Rebellion when Arya was born. That night, Robb and Jon had brought a then three-year-old Sansa to their bedroom and retold all her favorite stories.

Sansa was always taken with love stories, ofttimes the most tragic ones. Jenny of Oldstones and Prince Duncan’s love going up in flames at Summerhall when the prince burned to death. Dyanna Dayne and King Maekar’s love ending abruptly when illness suddenly took the princess. The king was so bereaved that he never remarried and never loved again. The misunderstood love of Lady Branda Stark and King-Beyond-the-Wall, Bael the Bard, which ended when Bael was eventually slain by his and Branda’s bastard son, raised to hate Wildlings by the Lady’s father. Lady Branda flung herself from the walls of Winterfell following her love’s death. But it was Jonquil and Florian that took the top spot for Sansa. A love that transcended ranks, titles and everything else the world could throw at them. Jon once asked Maester Luwin if they had ever truly existed.

_‘I have done some research on it in my younger years. Accounts are scarce. Some believe they never truly existed at all, but some believe that Jonquil would’ve died giving birth to a stillborn son and Florian would’ve died just as the Long Night began. Whether or not they existed at all, perhaps it is better to just enjoy a sweet song, my boy.’_

The stories did not mean much to Jon then and they still didn’t, but they meant something to Sansa. She did not care for love stories now. The stories he would tell her now were of battles, myths, legends and magic. That seemed more real to her than the love stories of her youth. When Jon was young, childbirth itself held an air of magic to it. In his mind, Lady Catelyn went into a room, screamed a lot and then he had a new sibling. He kept to this thought process until Maester Luwin explained how it truly worked. Men were generally not present in the birthing room and he didn’t think Lady Catelyn would want Father to see her that way, in any way other than dignified. He thought Sansa would not want him there either, though that was proven wrong.

He didn’t even know she had gone into labor initially. She hid it well. They had been in the middle of a meeting between the council. Sam had sent a letter from Oldtown stating that he had not found much yet about the Night King and a definitive way to defeat the White Walkers, but that he did remember Stannis telling him Dragonstone had dragonglass and he sent evidence that the castle sat on a mountain of it. Daenerys Targaryen was sailing towards Dragonstone from Meereen in Essos, but she had not arrived yet. Jon wanted to send men to mine as much dragonglass as possible before the Dragon Queen hit the shores and made it more difficult.

“I can make ships available from White Harbor, Your Grace.” Lord Wyman offered.

“If the ships are spotted bearing the Manderly standard, could not it be seen as an act of aggression on our part?” Lord Glover pointed out.

“We are a trading house, we sail to survive.”

“Even so, Cersei Lannister is hardly rational. One of the houses of the Crownlands could tip her off and she could launch an attack.” Lord Royce added.

“It would be less conspicuous if I were to bring Stannis’ ships from Eastwatch. The lords know me, and I know the island, I can sneak enough men in to begin mining and get back out before the Dragon Queen arrives or Cersei Lannister realizes we’re even there.” Ser Davos offered.

“Stannis’ ships could be recognized and seen as aggression just as well.”

“Maester Cressen of Dragonstone would not turn his ships away.”

Jon was about to answer when Sansa suddenly clutched onto his leg, her fingers digging into the material. He glanced over at her questioningly. She was sitting stiffly in her seat, she had been since about five minutes into the meeting and they had been going for half an hour now. She had been silent for the most part, which was unlike her, but he didn’t overly question it. She shouldn’t have been at the meeting at all. He would’ve rather she stay in bed as Maester Wolkan had counselled, but she had had enough of being cooped up in the room and said a council meeting wouldn’t kill her.

“Are you alright?” He asked discretely, letting the lords discuss the merits of going to Dragonstone amongst themselves. Sansa gave him a silent look. There was a hint of panic in her eyes and fear but mostly, there was pain. She was gritting her teeth and her hand kept flexing on his thigh, tightening periodically.

“Sansa?” She let out a low breath before speaking.

“The baby is coming.” Jon’s eyes widened in response.

“Don’t say anything, don’t make a scene. I’ve managed it since the meeting started, I can wait until it ends.” She whispered before he could reply. Jon’s eyes widened even more.

“You’ve been in labor since we started?” Sansa cut her eyes to him imploringly.

“Your Grace? Princess?” Jon and Sansa looked back to the room at large as they were addressed.

“What say you?” Lady Mormont asked.

“I think I speak for both myself and the king when I say we believe in Ser Davos’ ability wholeheartedly.” Sansa sat, her voice strong and only faltering the slightest on the last word. It was barely detectable, Jon only noticed because he was paying hyperattention to her. He decided to pick up the slack and end this meeting now.

“Lord Wyman and Lord Leobold, if it pleases you, we can send men of your choosing along with Ser Davos, sailing under his standard, to Dragonstone along with men to mine the caves for the dragonglass so this endeavor can be completed as expeditiously and safely as possible. It will take up more time to ride to Eastwatch than it would to White Harbor. If Ser Davos could have access to your ships, we would be most grateful.” Lord Manderly and Lord Tallhart bowed their heads in agreement.

“Good. That will be all, this council is hereby dismissed. Maester Wolkan, please stay. My lords and ladies, please give us the room.”

“She’s in labor. She has been for the last half hour and didn’t say anything.” Jon said once the room was clear.

“My lady!” Brienne said behind them, her tone lightly admonishing.

“I wanted to finish the meeting. It was important that we reach a consensus on this issue and I didn’t want any of them to know. The pain comes in waves. I can handle it.” Sansa defended.

“It may be coming in waves, but closer and closer all the time I’m sure. Has your water broken?” Maester Wolkan asked. Sansa nodded reluctantly. The older man shot her a disapproving look.

“Lady Brienne, please alert the midwife and her assistants, we must prepare the child-birthing bed for the princess.”

Jon helped Sansa to the room Maester Wolkan had prepared, but once there the midwife and her assistants waved him off and closed the door behind them, slamming it in Jon’s face. He sighed but didn’t move from in front of the door. There was nothing else he could think to do, no papers to be signed, no decisions to be made, no lords to appease, just Sansa in this room. He slipped down the wall and listened to her low growls and screams and the instructions and encouragement of the maester and midwife. His world shrunk to the bedroom. Ghost joined him at some point, his tongue lolling out. Jon shot the direwolf a smile as he laid down, so his head was resting on Jon’s thigh. He stuffed his fingers into the wolf’s ivory fur and sat there for what felt like hours. He wasn’t sure how much time had actually passed before the door opened. He stood up quickly when Lady Brienne stepped out.

“Is it over?” Jon asked. Lady Brienne shook her head, looking slightly reluctant.

“Princess Sansa wants you by her side. The midwife advised against it, but she insists on seeing you.” Jon felt his heart in his throat, but he nodded and moved into the room without hesitation. The window was open letting a crisp breeze in, but the pungent odor of sweat, blood and other bodily fluids was still strong. Sansa sat slumped in the bed, her hair pulled back from her sweaty face and a bloody white cotton shift on her shivering form, her vibrant blue eyes were clouded with exhaustion and pain.

“Jon?” Sansa called when she saw him, reaching her hand out. Jon made his way to her side hastily. He held her hand in his once he reached her and ignored everyone else in the room.

“Jon, I can’t do this.” Sansa said, her voice heavy with tears and emotion.

“What are you talking about? Of course, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.” She continued, breaking off with a sob. He had not seen Sansa break down this way since they had reunited, but he supposed the pain was great enough to break through the walls she had set up. He didn’t think she would’ve wanted him to see pass those walls, but she wanted him there with her and he wasn’t about to make her regret it.

“Yes, you are.” Sansa looked away with a sob.

“Look at me.” Jon ordered. Sansa turned her watery gaze to him.

“You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. All those battle-hardened lords and knights out there, they never would’ve survived what you survived. You’re a fighter, you’re a survivor.”

“The pain… it’s too much. I can’t do this alone.” Sansa admitted, her hand squeezing his.

“Then you won’t do it alone. I’ll stay here, right by your side for as long as you want me here.” Sansa stared at him with a hazy gaze before nodding her head. The midwife tutted disapprovingly.

“The birthing chamber is a woman’s business, it’s no place for a man, king or not. You do not belong here.”

 “My brother stays.”

“Princess, even husbands must stay on the other side of that door when I am delivering babes. Now, I’m sorry but—”

“My brother stays. You can leave if it so offends you, Maester Wolkan can deliver the babe, or you can stay and remain in my good graces.” Sansa replied, her tone fierce. Jon almost cracked a smile. That was the Sansa he had come to know. The midwife still looked disapproving but directed Jon to sit behind Sansa on the pillows piled behind her back.

“You will be in the way anywhere else.” She muttered. Jon moved into position, supporting Sansa's shaking frame. He reached into the water bowl beside the bed and used the cloth inside to dab at the sweat on her forehead, his other hand still holding hers. Sansa dropped her head back on his shoulder as wails of pain left her lips.

“Another contraction. Can we resume now, princess?” Sansa opened her eyes and looked up at him, her eyes full with fear.

“What if it’s a monster? What if it’s not even a babe that will come from me but some twisted beast, more animal than man?” She asked. Jon shook his head.

“It won’t be. Nothing that inhuman could come from you. This babe is partly you too, not just him, I trust that all of you beats out all that’s him any day.” Jon pressed a kiss to the sobbing girl’s forehead and squeezed her hand tighter.

“Now it’s time for you to listen to the midwife.”

"Push, princess!" Sansa braced against Jon and used him as leverage to push down. She squeezed his hand to the point of pain, but he ignored it, it was nothing compared to what she must be feeling. She stopped pushing when the midwife told her to.

"I can see the head, princess. Just one more big one."

"You can do it, Sansa." Jon said in encouragement. Sansa braced against him once again and screamed as loud as her lungs allowed before another scream accompanied her own. Jon looked up as the midwife stood back slightly and held a small squalling, red babe in her arms. Maester Wolkan walked over and cut the umbilical cord.

"It's a girl." He announced, passing the babe to one of the assistants to be cleaned and taken care of. Jon couldn’t help the flood of relief that went through him. She seemed healthy with a strong set of lungs.

"One more push for the placenta, princess. It shouldn't hurt nearly as much." The midwife said as her workers moved to help force the placenta out, but Sansa moaned in pain, twisting her body closer to Jon like it would help with the pain obviously affecting her.

"Princess Sansa?" Maester Wolkan asked with confusion.

"Something's wrong." Sansa mumbled before looking up at the king behind her.

"Something is not right, Jon." Jon looked at the midwife for answers. She inspected Sansa before coming up with a haunted look. The siblings looked at her with fear.

"There's another one." She announced in a shaky voice.

"Another what?" Sansa practically hissed.

"There's a second babe, princess. I need you to push… hard." Sansa looked to Jon with disbelief and fear. He didn't show his surprise or worry, he just kissed her forehead and nodded in reassurance.

“Don’t overthink it, just push. It’ll be over soon.” He encouraged. Sansa grit her teeth, squeezed his hand and pushed as hard as she could. It felt like long minutes stretched with only the sound of Sansa’s muted groan, the smell of blood growing stronger and stronger in the room to the point of worry. Soon, another wail filled the air and the midwife came up with a smaller, crying infant.

“A boy.” She announced, passing this child off to an assistant as well. Sansa didn’t bother waiting for instructions and began pushing the placenta out. The assistants moved to dispose of it, but Jon’s attention was on Sansa who suddenly went limp against him, her eyes rolling back.

“Sansa!” The midwife and the maester immediately moved to attend to her.

“She is losing blood, we must have space to staunch the bleeding. You should leave.” The midwife ordered.

“But—”

“Your Grace, we will endeavor to save your sister. Blood loss is not strange in childbirth, especially with twins. We will call you as soon as we have stabilized the situation.” Jon nodded reluctantly, gently laying Sansa back on the pillows so they could work on her. As he moved to leave the room, he passed by the babes being cleaned by the assistants. It was hard to reconcile the monster that their father was to their appearance now. They just looked like harmless babies. He shook his head as he left the room. It wasn’t up to him, it was up to Sansa and she had a perfectly good reason for wanting them gone. He would respect whatever she decided, no matter how he felt about it.

**~*~*~**

When Sansa woke, she felt tight-limbed with a dull ache emanating through all parts of her body, but especially her lower half. Just shifting to wake caused pain to shoot up and down her legs and into her center. She settled back into the bed with a soft moan and forced her eyes apart. The room was dimly lit but she could tell from the light peeping inside that it was morning. The room she was in was not her own, it most likely was the designated birthing suite. She remembered the pain of giving birth, her racing thoughts unable to compensate with the wracking pain.

It was not so bad at first. Her time in King’s Landing and with Ramsay had given her enough stamina and pain tolerance to grit her way through the first thirty minutes after her water broke just as the council sat down in the Great Hall. She hid her pain well. She felt as if she was the only one who could hear the water dripping to the floor from her chair, except for Ghost who kept nosing and nudging at her leg. She had only broken slightly when a contraction hit strong enough that she needed to grab hold of something, and her hand went to Jon instead of the table. She was sure she was going to be read the riot act by Maester Wolkan for neglecting to say anything about her state. He had been beside himself with her her whole pregnancy. She kept to his prescribed bedrest because she had no other choice. Jon or Brienne or both would probably physically haul her back into bed if she left too long, but otherwise she continued drinking wine, continued eating what she wanted, continued stressing and worrying, continued her behavior as if she was not pregnant at all, much to the maester’s ire. Now, she wasn’t pregnant. Her hands went to her stomach under her shift. It felt much less firm than it had before, almost… devoid. If she were insane, she might say she felt empty without the babe there, nestled under her heart.

 _Babe **s**._ Her mind supplied.

Twins. Ramsay never did anything by halves, it must be said.

What was she to do with them? She still had not decided. She could ride out to the Wolfswood in the dead of night and leave them among the foliage and snow for either the elements or some wild beast to take them away, tell the lords that they did not survive. She would be free then. This whole experience would be nothing but a distant dream, not even deserving of being mentioned in history books. They would be consigned to that corner of her mind where Joffrey’s false sweetness was locked away, where Cersei’s venomous hatred was shoved inside, where Petyr’s lascivious smirks and unwanted kisses lay, where the feel of Aunt Lysa’s sharp nails in her scalp was, where the sound of Ser Meryn’s heavy hand striking her resounded, where Ramsay’s words and deeds were locked away to never see the light of day. It was a pipe dream though, a base fantasy that would never come to fruition. She would never have actually done something like that, she couldn’t. Feeding Ramsay to his hounds was different. That wasn’t just revenge for herself, but for all the women that had not had the fortune of having the last name Stark that found themselves trapped in his clutches.

 _If he had survived, would he have cared about having the children? It was his father who pushed him to procreate. He threw his baby brother to the hounds, perhaps he would’ve flung the babes to them as well and not cared._ The thought made a shiver go up Sansa’s spine.

Child murder. She never thought she would contemplate such a thing in her youth. Her worries were about not giving the prince a son and disappointing the kingdom. Now she had a son and a daughter, rapespawn, the offspring of a monster but…

But. And this was what Sansa did not want to be thinking. She didn’t want there to be a but. There should not have been. But, she knew well the terror and hatred that came from being the child of a man reviled. Ramsay had much more cause to be hated than her father ever had, but could she condemn the children for being Ramsay’s children? How would it make her any better than the people in King’s Landing who condemned her for being Ned Stark’s daughter?

 _So, I will not cast them into the woods, but they cannot stay here. I can bring them to the orphanage under the cover of night. Yes, that is what I will do._ She decided just as movement in the room caught her attention and she realized she wasn’t alone. She glanced over to see a girl of about fifteen, a couple years younger than Sansa, standing in the room, her arms holding a small bundle.

“Oh, Princess Sansa. I didn’t notice you had woken, my apologies.” The girl said, flustered.

“It is alright.” A bright smile suddenly alighted the girl’s face.

“I was taken by your daughter. She is a beauty, if you don’t mind my saying so. Some people say you cannot tell a babe’s look at birth, but she resembles you. Here, you must see.” The serving girl chattered excitedly, making haste towards her.

“No, I don’t want to—” Sansa began to protest, but the babe was unceremoniously thrust into her arms. She instinctively held on to the bundle, lest the child slip to the floor. The serving girl nodded towards the babe eagerly.

“See? Do you see?” She asked. Sansa reluctantly looked down at the child, her daughter. The babe blinked her eyes open and Sansa stared at the blue orbs looking back up at her.

“She has your hair too, princess. Lighter red, but it will probably darken with time to be closer to yours. She is most precious, don’t you think?”

“Where is her brother?” Sansa asked in lieu of answering.

“The king is walking about with him. He was fussing and we did not want him to wake you. He should be returning—” The door opened and cut the girl off. Jon stepped inside holding an identical bundle. He smiled when he saw Sansa was awake. The aide curtsied when she saw him.

“Give us the room, please.” Sansa requested. The aide curtsied again before vacating the room.

“Hey, you gave me a scare.” He said, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Sorry.” Sansa replied as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. She could not help but glance at the boy in his arms. He had the same blue eyes but tufts of brown hair instead of red.

“They are healthy, the maester and midwife says. Small, which is most probably why they thought it was one babe, but healthy.” Sansa nodded in reply and looked up at Jon. He was enraptured with the babes. There was a light to his eyes that almost matched the midwife’s aide.

“I’ll tell you what, though. They are a big hit with most of the castle. They have had frequent visitors. Lord Royce says it is because with winter upon us and the wars past and wars to come, the babes give the lords and ladies some hope, hope for a future.” Sansa looked at the babes and felt… she didn’t know what she felt. It wasn’t hatred, but it wasn’t love. It was somewhere in the middle. Perhaps it was pity. The softness on Jon’s face was suddenly overtaken by an air of sadness.

“Have you decided what you want to do with them yet?” Sansa glanced away.

“I’ve been thinking about it, yes. I thought to leave them at an orphanage.” Jon nodded his head after a moment’s pause.

“If that is what you want.” Sansa stared at him for a long while before speaking.

“But it’s not what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Yes, it does. It matters to me. How long was I asleep for?”

“A little under a week.”

“Long enough for you to bond with them. I can see it in the way you look at them.”

“It isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“It’s not just about me. It’s about them too. Honestly, I feel… badly for them. Do you remember what Old Nan told us about twins?”

“That the gods split a soul in two and placed them in separate bodies, because the burden that soul must carry was too much for one man or woman to bear.” Jon recalled.

“They must have quite the journey ahead of them, and if they are bringing hope to the keep, who am I to take it away?”

“The woman who gave birth to them. You have more right or say in what happens than anyone else. Don’t make this decision for me or the lords and ladies of the North and the Vale, make it for yourself.” Sansa looked down at the twins and tried to feel something, negative or positive, but she just felt… nothing. It would be easier if she looked at them and hated them outright, hated them with every fiber of her being like she did Ramsay, but she didn’t. It would be easier if she loved them. If her love could transcend the torture, rape and abuse their father put her through, the months of beatings and flaying and mental degradation, to be this pure thing exemplifying what a mother’s love should be, but she didn’t feel that either. She just felt numb, distant, like they were not even her own children, not her own flesh, just children that now existed in her world, in her keep, in her arms. They weren’t hers, but maybe they could be.

“As a girl, I always wanted children. I used to dream of the day I’d have a little babe of my own. I used to play mother to Rickon, you remember?”

“I remember.”

“I did not expect my first go at motherhood to be like this. Mother was supposed to be coaching me on the birthing bed. Father and my princely husband was meant to be at the door waiting to congratulate me. I was meant to present my golden-haired son to court and be loved by all. A foolish child’s dream. This is so awful a way to have conceived a child that it didn’t even make it to my nightmares because it was so unthinkable, but it happened, that will never change, and now they are here. Breathing, living beings. Alive. I do not love them, I will not insult you with such a lie, but I don’t find it in myself to hate them right now either. I want to try. I want to try to love them, to mother them, not just for myself, but for the North. So that there is an enduring symbol of hope for the future after this war with the Night King. I am not a warrior, but if hope is the one thing I can give to the people, then that is what I will do.” Jon gazed at her, gauging her seriousness before he nodded and pulled her into a hug.

She was not sure of her decision, but she was a Stark, she was a wolf, she would stand by her word. She would try.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries, with little success.

_Catelyn was not a woman known to be prone to hatred. Family, Duty, Honor was her house words and as such, they were not things she suffered for frivolity, despite Northern perception of everyone living south of the Neck. She played Lady of Riverrun when her father needed her to, played mother to Lysa and Edmure after their mother died and played playmate and best friend to Petyr when he came to stay with them. She had always been the epitome of a lady. She remembered her courtesies, she mastered embroidery and the high harp at a young age, she prayed dutifully to the Seven. She kept ahold of her piety and chastity while being coy and tempting enough to be a good negotiating tool for her father, as per her duties as a daughter._

_Love was not the thing she was to marry her husband for, it was to be for strategy, for the betterment of her family’s position and his. She was raised up to expect certain things from her husband though. Children and shelter, yes, but also respect and decency, if only a modicum of it. If her husband was to keep a mistress, she expected any affair to be held in secrecy and whatever fruits of those exploits be hidden from public view. She had been smitten with Brandon, but the word of his lustful behavior reached even her ears. Eddard Stark was said to be much more virtuous and yet he was the one who brought a bastard to her home, something she did not think even Brandon would’ve done. He was the one who brought this babe, this child who looked more like him than his trueborn son and laid him in the same nursery as her Robb, sat him on his lap alongside her son to tell him stories, kissed his forehead with the same lips that were meant to only kiss her and their children._

_A part of her would chastise herself for her pettiness sometimes, for the rage that filled her whenever she was forced to stare at the proof of the single stain on her husband’s honor._

_“It is not his fault,” She would whisper to herself in the dead of night._

_“He did not choose to be born. He did not choose to be a bastard. He has no mother. His life will be hard enough. It is Ned who I should be angry with, not Snow. I will be kinder to him tomorrow.”_

_But each day she would fail. Each day she would fall back on her vices, her anger, her hatred. No matter how hard she tried to find it in herself to love Jon Snow or even just be genial towards him, no matter how much Ned might beg for her to be nicer to the boy, no matter how much she badgered herself for her actions, one thing would always remain true: he was not her child and she did not love him._

**~*~*~**

Objectively, Sansa knew motherhood would be hard. Babes were in constant need of attention and she had two to contend with. Even with a nursemaid, it was tiring work. When one woke, as did the other. If one started crying, it set the other off. If one was hungry, then the other was as well. It was all so tiring.

Sansa had moved to chambers with an adjoining room that was turned into a nursery so she could be close to the twins. She hoped that the proximity would help, help her to feel about them the way she ought to feel. It had been a moon since they were born, and nothing had changed yet. She did not wake up one morn, look upon their faces and feel love bloom in her heart. She would berate herself in her own head. It could not be so hard to love something or someone, could it? She had fallen in love with Joffrey before she ever met him based on stories of fictional princes and embellished retellings about long-dead historical figures. She had loved Lady the moment she saw the direwolf, even though she feared most dogs and hounds. She convinced herself that she loved Loras only based off his dashing looks (thinking back on it, it was Margaery those feelings had been for but, bar secret kisses, nothing came of that).

They were children of her own flesh. Of Ramsay’s flesh as well, but it was not so apparent to look at them. Babes were malleable things at their age. They didn’t look like him, and despite what the midwife’s assistant thought, they didn’t look like her either. Their blue eyes were already darker than they were at birth and their hair had darkened slightly too, but not too much. Her daughter’s hair remained red and her son’s brown and her heart remained unmoved, loveless.

Sansa sighed to herself as she shifted in her bed. Night had fallen over Winterfell, the moon shining white into her window. She could not count the number of sleepless nights she had had since the twins’ birth. They were blessedly quiet now, it was her mind that would not quiet.

 _Is it supposed to be this hard?_ She wondered to herself.

Her situation was both similar and unlike most mothers and yet women in her situation and worse could manage to love their children. It wasn’t that they were not born out of love. She was sure there were many highborn women who had children with men they did not love, but they were taught from children themselves that they were to love their sons and daughters no matter who their fathers were because they were their children as well. Her mother and father were strangers when they had Robb, but her mother loved Robb still. Aunt Lysa hated Jon Arryn but she loved Sweetrobin, too much in fact. Queen Naerys was certainly not in love with Aegon the Unworthy, yet from their union came King Daeron the Good, along with Princess Daenerys, whose marriage to Maron Martell helped soothe bad blood between Dorne and the crown. She knew love was not necessary between a woman and a man for a child to be worthy of love or for them to have a destiny in this world that could help shape it into a better one.

She also knew that many women were cursed with rapespawn, especially during wartime. She remembered Lollys Stokeworth was raped mercilessly outside a tanner’s shop during the riot in King’s Landing, Sansa herself having nearly been raped that day. Lollys gave birth to a bastard she named Tyrion Tanner that she raised, and even that was different circumstances than Sansa’s. Lollys was unmarried, most men denying her because she was simple and plump and dull. Her mother went missing during the riot and her sister was thrown from her horse recently, breaking her neck, or so the story says. That same bastard could stand to be the only male heir House Stokeworth had for some time, so he was a valuable piece to keep around. Sansa would not see either of her children inherit the North or the Dreadfort. She did not blame them for their birth, not truly, but she could not stomach the thought of Ramsay’s seed owning Winterfell or ruling the North, nor the Dreadfort. She wanted them to have nothing to do with their father’s bloodline and that included his fortress. She might legally own it, but for all she cared it could freeze over and crumble during winter, she wanted no part of it.

Davos said his good-daughter had kept her son because extra hands were important on a farm, but also because she had always wanted children and did not think she would have another chance to be a mother. Sansa had also always wanted a child, she had dreamed of it as a young girl. She and Jeyne would whisper to each other at night when they snuck into the other’s room about what their future child might look like. Would their son have their color hair or their husband’s? Would he be a strong and gallant knight? Perhaps they’d have a second son who would choose to be a learned man and go on to the Citadel to earn his chains as a maester? Their daughters would surely be beautiful, elegant princesses and attract the attention of every eligible man in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Sansa did not know what her children’s lives had in store for them, she had not gotten that far. Hells, they didn’t even have names yet. She couldn’t think what to name them. She could not name them after her family, it didn’t sit right with her, and naming them after anyone in the Bolton family was out of the question so they remained nameless, only referred to in euphemisms and nicknames. Jon had been calling them ‘Girl’ and ‘Boy’ after ‘she’ and ‘him’ had gotten them into confusing conversations one too many times. He didn’t say anything to her about their names, but she knew he wanted to.

A month was a long time to adjust. She ought to have been better at all of this by now, feel better about it, but it still felt like they were just another responsibility she had on top of her other duties as Lady of Winterfell, like they were just guests in the keep that it was her job to care for. She could hardly speak to anyone about it, they wouldn’t understand. Jon loved them as soon as he set eyes on them. It was so easy for him. She knew he was aching for a family in a way even she was not, always longing to belong, always wanting to be loved completely and who besides babies could love so purely and without judgment?

Brienne had her own insecurities when it came to children. She was technically her father’s heir, and yet she chose to be a knight sworn to Sansa because no matter what she did when she married it would be the end of her family name. She would have to take her husband’s name and he would have more power than her just because he was a man. Brienne hadn’t had any prospects that weren’t disgusted or put off at the fact that she was a fighter or didn’t insult her for her looks to her face and deride her in front of people. She had told Sansa of her childhood septa, Septa Roelle, who would spend most days telling Brienne how ugly she was, how much her husband would hate her, how her children were likely to be as ugly if she ever had any at all. Brienne’s moonblood came late and remained irregular. Her septa put it in the woman warrior’s head that it meant she was unlikely to have children, the gods’ way of saving the world from her monstrous offspring. Sansa could exhaust herself reassuring Brienne that the woman’s words were false or pointing out that Tormund certainly had no problems with her looks, but Brienne had no interest in the wildling, nor in Sansa’s placating. In the face of the hardship Brienne had been dealing with her whole life, Sansa felt ungrateful and so she would not burden her friend with her problems.

She had not made any friends among the ruling lords and ladies of the North, who were judging her more than enough for not naming them and hardly bringing them around the others. They judged her for carrying rapespawn when she was pregnant and now they judged her for not mothering them the way they deemed fit. Lady Lyanna could’ve been an option if she were older but as mature as she seemed, at the end of the day she was a child herself and years off from having children of her own. A part of her wanted to lash out at all of them, ask them what better they could do with what they had been given. None of them survived what she had survived, none of them had to bear the scars she did, had to live with reminders and memories every day of the rest of their lives. They couldn’t know and still, they judged her unworthy because she lived despite it all. She wondered if she would be more beloved if she had died, but they spoke down about Robb enough that she doubted it.

A cry came from the adjoining room, breaking her from her thoughts and soon another one joined it. She sighed to herself and left her bed, padding barefoot over to the room. The nursemaid, Cerisse, was already picking up her daughter to hush her. Sansa did not want to already have a preference between her children, it wouldn’t help her in opening her heart to them, but she admitted to herself that she preferred her daughter. She did not know if it was because she had the red hair and blue eyes of a Tully like herself, Mother, Rickon and Robb, or if it was just because she was a girl and less likely to indulge in the cruelty of her father, though gender hardly stopped Myranda, but it was impossible for her to get any woman pregnant with rapespawn in her adulthood like her son had the potential to do. Jon would reassure her constantly that they would be raised differently, the boy would not be like Ramsay, but Sansa had her doubts about whether that kind of madness was taught or inherited through blood. Surely Roose Bolton not hugging Ramsay enough did not turn him into a rapist who enjoyed flaying people and siccing dogs on helpless girls. Maybe no amount of teaching would save or change them. Perhaps that nature, that predisposition to violence, was just something they were born with due to how they were conceived. Ramsay had been a product of rape himself, wasn’t he?

She shook her head free of those thoughts. There was no time for thinking that way and she could not lose herself or fall into despair. She was a wolf, she was the Lady of Winterfell and the Princess of the North. Her words were not wind. She said she would try and so she would. She just needed more time, that was all, and she would love them. She could do it. If she could love monsters like Joffrey, she could love her own children.

**~*~*~**

Jon had mentioned Gilly to Sansa before, said she was involved with his friend Samwell Tarly and would be with him when he came to Winterfell from Oldtown, but he did not go far into her history, possibly because he felt it wasn’t his to tell. Sansa liked Gilly. She was sweet if simple. She reminded her of her childhood friends, Jeyne and Beth. Gilly was not as simpering or vicious as they could be, she did not talk about people behind their backs, make fun of them and indulge in bullying behavior like they had as bratty children, but it was the fact that she was not manipulative or scheming. She cared nothing for the game of thrones, she cared about surviving winter with her child and Sam. Sansa respected that. She gravitated to the girl more than she did to Eddara Tallhart or Alys Karstark or Wylla Manderly, girls tasked by their families with befriending Sansa so they could get close to her and hopefully gain a better chance at someday being Jon’s queen.

Sansa did not outright have anything against those women. Eddara was now the heir to Torrhen’s Square. She was a girl of fifteen and had to watch her father and brother be killed by Ironborn before she was held captive herself. Sansa knew what had happened to her, could see it in her eyes, and yet her uncle trotted her out like a prized broodmare to Sansa and Jon. It was clear the teen wanted no part in Lord Leobold’s machinations and just wanted to be safe and happy again. Sansa empathized with her. She could not take Eddara’s nightmares away, couldn’t banish her fears any more than she could her own, but she knew the young heiress wanted to be home. She sent her back to Torrhen’s Square with a betrothal to her cousin, Brandon, since that would preserve the Tallhart name and retain Eddara’s rights and would hear no more from Lord Leobold about a possible match between her and Jon.

Alys Karstark spent all the war safe in her keep, sheltered from what the real world could be. She did not see her grandfather, Rickard’s, beheading. She was not forced to watch his head be separated from his shoulders, watch the sword dripping with blood, see his head held up to a jeering crowd. Her father, Harald, died in the fighting for Winterfell far from her view. She was even allowed to bury his body. She remained safe in Karhold while the Ironborn and then the Boltons ran roughshod over the North. She didn't know, couldn't know what the real world was, and she could not explain it to her. She was older than Sansa and yet she reminded her so much of her younger self. She even looked a bit like her, red hair vibrant down her shoulders, and blue eyes. She could sing pretty songs and curtsey with inscrutable form.

 _‘You're just perfect, aren't you?’_ Sansa had said to her once after Alys treated the lords to a song on her high harp and then presented her with two intricately embroidered blankets for the twins. It was later that it hit her that Cersei said those same words to her after she presented herself to her that first time and when they were locked in Maegor's Holdfast during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Her disdain was just as hidden as Cersei's had been and Alys was just as oblivious as young Sansa. Sansa could not suffer to be around her, the constant reminder of her younger clueless self. Besides, she was the heir to Karhold since her older cousins, Harrion, Torrhen and Eddard all died in the war so marrying her to Jon was not advantageous for House Karstark, nor was it for House Stark. House Karstark fought against them when they reclaimed Winterfell. Jon accepted her and Ned Umber’s pledges, but Sansa was more cautious about the loyalties of the two houses.

Wylla Manderly would be a viable option for Jon if it could be negotiated. She was outspoken and sometimes hot-tempered in a way that reminded her of Arya. Her hair was dyed a garish green that made her stand out even more, but she was loyal to the Starks. Sansa heard she openly spoke against her grandfather when he did not pledge his support to she and Jon before the Battle of the Bastards. Wylla was the second daughter, her older sister being the heir to White Harbor after their father and grandfather, and the Manderlys were easily the richest family in the North. They also dealt with most of the sea trade in the region. They were an invaluable asset to hold close. It was obvious she was in love with Larence Hornwood (formerly Larence Snow) but what did love have to do with marriage? Sansa even sometimes enjoyed Wylla’s company for her familiar witticisms, but there was a certain look she got in her eye when she looked at Sansa’s children that rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn’t hatred or disgust it was… pity perhaps. Sansa didn’t like it. It felt like an indictment of her, like she was not doing a good enough job. She kept them fed, clean and sheltered, protected. Guards stood outside both doors to her chambers throughout the whole night, the twins didn’t spend a minute alone. She had gone back to regular meetings after the twins turned a moon old and the lords looked at her strangely, like she shouldn’t be there, like she should stay by the twins’ side day in and day out. She resented that notion. It was like they expected her to only be a mother now, not the Lady of Winterfell. Her mother wasn’t under this level of scrutiny when she had children, surely. So why was it different with Sansa? Because she was an unwed mother? Because they were nameless babes born of rape? Because she had previously married into two houses that were enemies of her own family (against her wishes)? Perhaps it was all of that. Sansa wasn’t going to waste time trying to figure out all her shortcomings in their eyes.

Gilly was different. She never judged Sansa, didn’t care about the last names of her previous husbands, didn't think she was speaking out of turn if she voiced her opinion, didn’t care how much time she spent with her children throughout the day versus in meetings and doing her duties around the keep. Gilly had complimented her absentmindedly more than once on her wits and her strength for dealing with a room full of highlords all arguing about one thing or another. Sansa did not want to be prideful, but the words did make her feel better about herself. But Gilly was also a gods-send in the way she helped Sansa with the children. The wildling never claimed to be an expert, but she had experience and she gave Sansa advice, sat down with her and told her stories, showed her how to swaddle the children, the best way to put them down to sleep, how to distinguish their cries. A part of Sansa wondered if it shouldn’t have been instinct for a mother to be able to tell the difference between their child’s cries. Sansa had seen Gilly do it tons of times, not just with Little Sam but with the twins as well. Sansa couldn’t hear a difference even after two and a half months, all she heard was their incessant noise, the constant wailing grating on her nerves. Sometimes she just wanted them to shut up, especially after a long day of preparing for winter and arguing on the best course of action against their enemies.

Gilly had a bond with her son that Sansa did not share with her children. As much as a part of her still could not feel the love for the twins that she wanted to, she could not help the pang of jealousy at Gilly’s ease. Sam was easy with Little Sam too in the same way that Jon was a natural with the twins. Sam was as sweet as Gilly. He was awkward and bumbling and prone to bouts of rambling, but he was supportive towards Jon, invaluably intelligent and he brought back knowledge of the White Walkers that they would otherwise not have access to. He was the point of reference for all the information gathered, constantly working with Maester Wolkan to synthesize and rewrite information to send out to other lords in the Seven Kingdoms, but he always found time to visit with Gilly and Little Sam. They made a sweet family, the three of them. She had no reason to believe there was anything untoward about them besides the fact Sam had broken his vow by fathering a son. Sansa did privately wonder how they could hope to work. Sam was still a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch and now he was a maester as well. He had to return to Castle Black eventually. Where would Gilly and their son go? Would they join him?

Winterfell was not safe from whispers. Sansa made it her business to hear every murmur and rumor passed from person to person, so she heard about the ill-feeling among some of the wildlings about Gilly and her child. At first, she thought it was because she was involved with a member of the Night’s Watch. There was still bad blood between the two parties. She was further confused about the whispers of incest and offenses to the gods some claimed Gilly committed. She debated bringing it up, but curiosity won out and one day as she and Gilly sewed new winter cloaks in her chambers, the twins sleeping in their cradle next to her and Little Sam playing with toys at Gilly’s feet, she asked about it.

“I’ve heard strange things from around the keep.” Sansa started.

“Oh?”

“About you and Little Sam and his birth father.”

“…Oh.”

“You do not have to tell me anything you do not feel comfortable with, I just wondered.” Gilly looked up from the cloth in her hand at Sansa.

“It’s fine. I sometimes forget that even this close to the Wall, you southerners won’t know things that is common knowledge there.”

“I am not—” Sansa cut herself off as Gilly gave her a smile edged with teasing. She had done it on purpose. Sansa rolled her eyes but waited for Gilly to continue.

“Little Sam’s blood father is a man named Craster. He was a horrible man. He hurt us, me and my sisters, all the time. Treated us like filth. He made us feel like we owed him because without him, he said, we would never survive. He would tell us horrible things about life south of the Wall. He said there were monsters, cannibals, beasts waiting to destroy us. He said even looking at the Wall would strike us down dead. We believed him, we didn’t know any other way. He was our husband. He was also our father.” Sansa couldn’t help the horror that colored her face.

“He married us, his daughters, and we gave him more daughters that he could marry so he could have more daughters. On and on it went. Our sons, he would sacrifice to the Others, the White Walkers. We never learned what they did with them, wasn’t our place. It’s the belief of the Free Folk that it is offensive to the gods for women to wed their brothers, fathers or clan kin and that any children born of such unions are cursed to be weak and sickly. That’s why they avoid us the way they do and talk about us under their breaths. They knew about it when we still lived beyond the Wall and they condemned us. A few of my sisters tried to join Mance Raydar, the King-beyond-the-Wall, to escape Craster but some people among his group didn't want them there. They said our family’s presence would curse them and draw out the evil dwelling in the Lands of Always Winter, so they ran them away and they had to return home. My father beat them badly when they did. The Night’s Watch knew, but Craster helped them when they came beyond the Wall, gave shelter to the rangers, and there are no laws beyond the Wall, so nothing was done, not until the Night’s Watch mutinied and killed him and Lord Commander Mormont as well. Sam took us both away, helped us to escape. He killed a White Walker to protect us when it came for Little Sam. He's been protecting us since the moment we ran with him. Sam’s his father more than anyone else in the world could ever be.” Gilly looked down at Little Sam with a look of love, pride and happiness. Sansa felt glad that after all Gilly had been through, life had given her a break, but she still wondered.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How did you make yourself... love Little Sam? How did you get past it, how he was conceived? How did you accept him?" Gilly scrunched her eyebrows a little.

"I didn't get past how he came to be. I... It's difficult to explain." Sansa shook her head, already regretting bringing the topic up.

"Just forget I ever asked."

"No, I just need a moment to think about it is all." Gilly spent a long silence in contemplation before she looked back over at Sansa.

"I grew up always knowing that one day my father would be my husband, whether I liked it or not. It happened to my mother and my sisters and their daughters. Who can tell how it even started? I'm sure the oldest of us died long ago, but I never thought of running like some of my sisters had or fighting, not until I got pregnant and then everything changed. I wasn't the only one in danger, there was a child depending on me, a totally defenseless creature that was mine. With the Others stirring again, it felt like a sign that maybe it was time for me, for all of us, to move on from Craster and the life he shackled us with. I didn't have a plan, but I had the motivation that I didn't before. My sisters never got attached to their children, it would hurt too badly when their sons were sacrificed and their daughters taken to wife, I didn’t even know which of my sisters was my mother, but I managed to save my son and he gave me the boost I needed to try to save myself. We went on quite a journey together, from Craster's to Castle Black to Horn Hill to Oldtown and now Winterfell. We rode a boat together for the first time, felt the true sun on our skin, saw more green than I ever thought existed. We rode out battles together, faced ancient beings together and survived it all. Love came during all that. But I never forget where we came from, how we came to be. I could never forget. Little Sam, he even looks like him, but he is dead and can never hurt us again. Every day we live, happy and together, is a slap in his face and that makes me even more happy. We have Sam, and he is our family and that is more happiness. I suppose what I’m saying is, love can't be forced, elsewise it'll never come, and it must be tested elsewise you'll never know for sure if it's true. It just takes time and experience and you have to be open to it, truly open or it will never have a chance." Sansa nodded a little but remained doubtful.

"I'm afraid it'll never come. It's been two moons and I look at them and I see strangers. My heart is not quickened like Jon’s is. I’m not filled with hope, like the lords of the North and the Lords Declarant of the Vale. What if I made a mistake? Mayhaps I shouldn't have kept them. Maybe they would have been better off in an orphanage or raised by someone else, someone who didn’t know their father." Gilly shook her head in reply.

"Not all mothers love their children immediately, even when they are born through normal means. Freefolk don't like to get too attached to children because so often they don't live through infancy. As a result, children are not named until they reach two namedays. They just have nicknames until then. I took a while to name Little Sam and I only named him because I knew he was going to live and Sam kept asking me about it, but motherly love comes slowly for women beyond the Wall."

"That is due to necessity, to protect from undue pain if their child dies or something horrible happens."

"And you don't think this lack of love might have to do with you protecting yourself?"

"From what?"

"The past and the ghosts that live there." Sansa scoffed a little.

"Everyone in the North is protecting themselves from the ghosts of the past, but somehow I doubt they struggle with the problem I do."

"I think you're underestimating yourself. You are doing your best. And I'm not perfect, I'm just already on the other side. Before we named him, I called Little Sam 'Monster' in my head for a place-name. You’ve survived for this long, you’re still surviving and you’re learning. Give yourself some credit. At the end of the day, the most important thing is time.” Gilly reassured her, squeezing her arm lightly. Sansa nodded after a moment, taking a deep breath. Perhaps Gilly was right, she wasn’t giving herself enough credit. A few months ago, all she could think of was abandoning her children in the woods to be crow meat, but she had come around to opening her home to them, and that took months. She should allow herself more time to open her heart and she could get there.

**~*~*~**

Sansa took Gilly’s advice to heart and decided to allow herself time to make the change she wanted. She let the nursemaid, Cerisse, go and took full charge of caring for the children by herself along with help from Jon and Brienne. She moved their crib to her bedroom and spent more time with them. Not just to feed them or change them or fit them with clothes she had sewn, but she read them stories and she rocked them in her lap by the window. She sometimes brought them with her during her walks around Winterfell and Winter Town to survey the condition of the keep and the town for winter. She was frequently stopped, and she let people coo over the children. It was going well, she thought. She found a rhythm that worked for her. She did not love them yet, but she could look at them now and not just see strangers. She could see that her daughter’s hair would be the color of her mother’s rather than Sansa's. She could see Robb in the shape of their eyes and Arya and Bran’s pouts in the bow of their lips. Rocking them and telling them stories brought back memories of doing the same with Rickon. Sometimes she would bring them to the godswood and sit before the heart tree as her father had done with her and her siblings. She would enjoy the quiet of it with them, the solitude. They never cried in the godswood, oddly enough. If Sansa still believed in that sort of thing, she would take it as a sign. She was even trying to think up names for them with renewed fervor.

Then her son became sick.

She woke up in the middle of the night and was not sure what woke her. She sat up on high alert, wondering if someone managed to get past the guards outside her door, when she heard strangled snuffling coming from the crib by her bed. She pushed herself up and walked over to the crib. Her son was awake but not crying. He was fussing, his arms and legs kicking helplessly. She stared at him for a moment more. He had a strange look about him. His cheeks were rosy red, like he had been out in the cold and there were beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. She picked him up as he continued making unhappy noises. She brought his face up to her ear. His breathing sounded hoarse and she felt the heat emanating off him just by holding him close. She pulled him away and gave him a concerned look. He had been a little fussy throughout the day, but not so horrible as to gain her attention. Perhaps he had an ear infection. Maester Wolkan said they were common among babes. The boy stared at her with wide wet eyes.

“It’ll be okay, little one. We’ll just go see the maester.” She pulled on a robe and left the room, holding him on her hip. She indicated to the guard to watch her daughter and walked to the maester’s tower. The castle was still except for her feet smacking against the cold surface of the floor and her son’s aborted noises. She made her way up the steps of the tower leisurely, singing a lullaby under her breath to calm the disgruntled child. The twins liked her singing. She knocked softly on the maester’s door, noting the candlelight from underneath. Maester Wolkan opened after a moment and looked at her with surprise.

“Maester, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. I was up anyway looking over some more of the research Maester Samwell brought with him.”

“I appreciate your tireless work. I did want you to take a look at him, I think he has an ear infection, but I wanted to be sure.” The maester took one look at her son and immediately looked concerned. He held his hands out and she passed him over. She watched him give a quick assessment of him, but most of her attention was on the scrolls on the maester’s desk. Sam had truly done a great job copying the Citadel’s information on the White Walkers. She was sure he had had many tireless nights in order to do so, but he had said he had help from some of the acolytes he befriended and Gilly. They had even replicated illustrations. The images depicted the White Walkers as skeletal beings made of ice with hauntingly blue eyes, eyes that could penetrate one’s soul and freeze it over with a glance. Sansa hoped never to come face to face with one like Jon had had the misfortune of doing. The way he described it, the palpable fear in him, Sansa had quickly developed a healthy fear for their unusually quiet enemies to the north.

“Princess!” Sansa looked over at the older man.

“I’m sorry, were you calling me?”

“Yes. I asked how long he has been like this.”

“He was fussy earlier, but I couldn’t say. I didn’t notice anything wildly out of the ordinary until I woke up to him like this. It is just an ear infection, no?”

“I don’t think it is. I think he may have caught a chill.”

“Are you certain?”

“It has been going around in the children of the Winter Town. It has not proven fatal yet, but this is the first case I’ve seen in an infant and his fever is concerning. Babes are much more susceptible to illnesses than others. They get some natural protection from a mother’s milk, but small things can become large concerns for them. They might have been too exposed to unknown sources during your walks.” Something must have shown on her face because the maester was quick to continue.

“Not that I am blaming you, Princess. They need exposure so their bodies can learn to fight these minor illnesses and it just as well could’ve come from a guard. But I would suggest keeping him and your daughter separated. In fact, I would suggest quarantining him from everyone. It would be better if he were not exposed to any further possible contagions. I can keep him here for the duration of his illness.” Sansa was tempted but she shook her head.

“No, I will keep him with me. I am his mother, I am the best person for him to be with. I will ask Jon to keep his twin until he is feeling better.”

And that was what Sansa did. She administered the medicine just as Maester Wolkan told her to and gave him plenty of water, but he cried constantly. He cried more then than he ever had during any other time in his life. She had no recourse from it. No one else was allowed to come into the room because he was sick, and she did not leave. Her maidservant would leave food for her in the adjoining room and Sansa would eat it quickly before leaving the tray to be collected. No matter what she did, she couldn’t calm him, couldn’t stop his cries. She was losing her mind. She wanted to tear her hair out of her head. She probably looked a mess. She was sure her hair was a frizzy bush and there were probably bags under her eyes. She hadn’t slept in days, up all the time caring for him and the few hours of sleep he got she was still awake trying to get some work done, even though Jon told her not to worry about it.

“Please, please stop.” She begged, bouncing him on her hip as she paced the room. His cries were ear-splitting. She had stripped him down so his skin could get air and relief from the fever, she administered his medicine, he should’ve been fine, but he wouldn’t shut up.

“I fed you, I changed you, I bathed you, you got your medicine, your fever isn’t as high as it was yesterday. I don’t know what else you want. What do you want from me?” All she got in return was sobs.

“I’m trying. I’m trying to love you, to take care of you, but you’re making this so hard for me.” She paused in her pacing, rubbing a hand over her face. Her head felt like it was going to crack open, she couldn’t think straight with him crying in her ears and she felt drained, woozy and almost light-headed.

She remembered the days when she was stuck in King’s Landing with Joffrey. She learned how to escape in her mind, how to hide away when she needed refuge and mental fortitude. She tried to find that place now. That place of summer and sunshine where there were gallant knights and pretty ladies, and everyone loved her. It was a fantasy, a stupid childish fantasy, but that was what she could use now. Some place where there weren’t any crying babies to split her skull in two, where her parents and brothers were still alive, where Arya and Bran were with them. Somewhere where there were fields, no, mazes of blooming flowers. She would be able to walk on the arm of someone of her choosing and trade kisses among hedges and rose bushes, like she and Jeyne used to do when they hid in the glass gardens to practice for their future husbands. It would be a place where there were no White Walkers, no Lannisters, no Freys or Boltons, just happiness.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a sharp cry. Her eyes flew open and she looked to her arms to see the problem, but her son was not there. She looked down and her eyes widened in shock when she saw him on the floor, bawling his eyes out.

She dropped him, she had dropped her son.

“Oh gods, oh dear gods. Are you alright? Are you okay?” She muttered frantically as she got on her knees and picked him up, looking him over. He didn’t appear injured or anymore worse for wear, but he was clearly frightened. She sat back on her haunches, her eyes quickly filling with tears. What kind of a mother was she? She had dropped her own child because she was busy fantasizing. It was foolish of her to let herself be taken to some world that could never exist and lose sight of what was happening now. She had dropped a defenseless babe for the sake of a bloody dream.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She felt weaker than she had felt since Ramsay’s death as she broke down crying, her sobs joining her son’s. She wished for simpler days, even if it meant she was just a silly little girl because at least that girl was whole and unbroken.

**~*~*~**

Her son’s illness lasted a few days more after that incident. She still administered his medicine and did what she could to keep his fever at bay, but she did not hold him anymore for fear of what she might do to him, intentionally or otherwise. Sleep still evaded her, guilt keeping her awake rather than work. When the mandated quarantine was finally over, Sansa’s first stop was the godswood. She was desperate, desperate enough to turn to her father’s gods for some guidance or piece of mind.

She got on her knees before the heart tree, ignoring the wet feeling of snow seeping into her dress and chilling her knees. She bowed her head in silent prayer. She spent half the day there, and later she would have no idea the actual words she had thought, what she had said to them, but she had an answer when she left.

“It won’t come.” She said to Gilly one day. They were in Gilly’s room, because Sansa could not stand to be in her own after being cooped up in it for a week and a half with a sick child. Little Sam played with the twins on the bed, causing them to laugh. Gilly smiled every time she heard it. Sansa wasn’t moved, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying the words that had been weighing heavy on her ever since she left the godswood days earlier. The brunette gave her a quizzical look.

“The love. It won’t come.” Gilly looked crestfallen as she understood what Sansa meant.

“Are you sure?”

“I dropped him, when he was sick. I let him go and I didn’t even realize I was doing it until he hit the floor.”

“You must’ve been exhausted. Who knows how many hours sleep you lost? And you were alone.”

“After I realized what I had done, my first thought wasn’t horror for my child or even true concern but anger at myself for dreaming, fantasizing like I had done as a child. A proper mother wouldn’t even think of herself in that moment at all. I prayed for hours before the heart tree, but the answer came to me. It won’t come because it can’t, because I don’t want it to. Not truly. I wanted it to come because I wanted to be the mother that my mother was, because I didn’t want people to think I was a horrible woman for not loving my own children, not because I was moved to love them or because they gave me any sense of purpose like Little Sam did you, or hope like they do some in Winterfell or family like they do Jon. I don’t feel anything for them, except a sense of obligation because I gave birth to them. Perhaps it is because I cannot love in the pure way that mothers do. I have no more purity in me and only glimmers of light. You were right, I can’t force love. What little progress I made, when tested, it didn’t hold.” Saying the words felt like a weight off Sansa, but it saddened her as well, the reality of the statement. She was not quite prepared for how sad it actually made her, because the tear that fell down her face surprised her. Gilly reached out and squeezed her shoulder supportively.

“It doesn’t make you a monster. It happens sometimes. Some people just can’t. You’ve been through a lot.” Gilly moved her hand to Sansa’s, and she squeezed her fingers back, accepting the comfort and strength offered.

“What are you going to do with them now?” Gilly asked. Sansa shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was a little harder than the first chapter, because I wanted to get across the complex range of Sansa's feelings without vilifying her for them. The source of the feelings come from many sources, not least of all being past trauma, post-partum depression, PTSD, all of her bad experiences with love (i.e Joffrey, Ramsay) along with just how closed off she has actually become to new love. It's different with friendship, especially with kindred spirits like Gilly or someone like Brienne or Davos because that is a different kind of care with a different kind of expectation than something as eternal as motherhood, and it is different with family like Jon, especially because there is history there and memories beyond the trauma. This is not the end though, not by a long shot. Thanks to everyone sticking this out with me. I don't anticipate this being much longer than 5-7 chapters and I've already started on the next two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a taste of power and freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Notice the Bisexual Sansa Stark tag and the new relationship tag*

_When Catelyn first stepped foot in Winterfell, she knew she had her work cut out for her._

_The people gave her looks that were uneasy at best, hostile at worst. She was an outsider. Worse, she was a southerner. Benjen was the one truly ruling the North in Lord Eddard's absence, but Catelyn was the Lady of Winterfell and mother to the heir of the North. She had her duties that she must perform._

_She knew everyone doubted her, looked at her and thought her simple, but she had had to play Lady of Riverrun from the age of ten after her mother died. She bore virtually being sold off to her deceased betrothed's brother for an army._ _She could weather the North and all it threw at her._

_They don't have to love me, she thought, but they will respect me._

**~*~*~**

It was a month after her son's sickness and Sansa's realization of where she stood, and she was no closer in deciding what she should or could even do with them. She said she would try, she did, and she failed, but they were still here. She couldn't just send them away. They were babes, and it would be noticed. She did not spend as much time with them. She made sure they were cared for but did little else. She threw herself into preparations for winter and accommodating the smallfolk, so they did not freeze to death when true winter winds hit. She didn't bring the twins to town anymore. The residents stopped asking after them after the first few days of her showing up child-free.

Gilly helped her, taking the twins off her hands when she could, but Sansa didn't let it be too often. Allowing Gilly to care for them made her feel like she was pawning them off on her and using her as a governess rather than a friend. Brienne, who never condemned her or said an ill word to her, seemed to perceive her change. She never said anything, but she was acting even more protective of Sansa than usual, and if any gossip made its way to her, the lady knight suggested punishing those offenders herself where she previously would've been less harsh about it. Davos appeared to notice as well because he would get these flashes of sadness and grief in his eyes before he would ask to look in on the twins and tell her she could go elsewhere,

 _'You're young yet, you should go find some silly thing to do before you're too old to get away with it, like me.'_ He would say with self-deprecating humor in his voice.

She saw something else beneath that though. Jon had mentioned that Davos had been so close to Princess Shireen partly because her mother did not love the little girl, as evidenced by allowing her to be burned to death. Sansa hoped he didn't see any of Selyse Baratheon in her, but she never asked, and he never acted untoward with her.

Most of her worry was if Jon had noticed. She didn't care what the lords and ladies thought of her personal choices as long as they respected her and her input in matters of court and Northern rule. Jon had been invested in this with her since she told him about her pregnancy. He loved the twins like they were his own. If she told him how she felt, would her brother think there was something wrong with her? Would he judge her? Would he think she was like her mother in the worst possible way? These were questions she wanted the answers for but was too afraid to do what was necessary to get them. Jon didn't give her any indication that he was picking anything up, but he was getting busier by the day, and their conversations were getting more and more focused solely on running the kingdom and preparing for war and winter.

Sansa sat at work now in her solar, looking through the ledgers once more. Jon had written to their goodsister's family, The Maegyrs, in Volantis to see if a possible trade could be set up. The Maegyrs owned a fishing company and had stakes in other food companies and when the North could no longer fish in the icy waters, having fish preserved and available would help immensely. They also could provide fruits and grains. Sansa was more concerned with the grain. It had the most extended shelf-life among those three food items and could feed their livestock as well as people. They offered silver ore and timber in exchange for the food, but Sansa wanted to make sure they still had enough resources for the North as well. Wood was essential for repairing and building structures to protect people. Jon had had the idea of making multi-family homes in Winter Town to house as many displaced smallfolk as possible. Initially, they were to be tall-houses like in the lower towns of King's Landing, but Davos suggested long-houses as he had seen in a Dothraki khalasar once. It was colder the higher you went, he reasoned, those on the tallest floors would be colder than those below if they built tall-houses. Sansa had set to the task of putting aside materials and money for the endeavor. At the moment, they were sanctioning five long-houses, able to house at least thirty people each.

Sometimes, Sansa would think this part of her work would be easier if Arya were around. The numbers needed to be exact for this project, they could afford no mistakes. Mistakes meant they wasted time and time was not on their side. Arya had always had a better head for numbers than she had. Sansa was the worst of her siblings at math. She had been a challenge in patience for Maester Luwin. The redhead quirked a small smile as she thought of the grey, old man and his long-suffering sigh at her ineptitude. He had said she was thinking too imaginatively for so clinical a subject. She was probably just eager to hear some love story instead and could not focus on the work at hand. She rolled her eyes at her younger self. The fool.

A knock came at her door, and Brienne stepped in.

"His Grace, the king." Jon shot Brienne a rueful look as he stepped into the room.

"I keep telling you, you don't have to announce me so formally, my lady."

"Far be it from me to show you anything but the utmost respect, Your Grace. I'd hate to call you out of your title lest Ser Davos hear." Brienne replied, a tiny teasing smile on her lips. Ser Davos was a stickler about Jon and Sansa being given their due respect from the lords and ladies of the North and the Vale. It amused Brienne to see the former smuggler scolding and giving looks of disapproval to any who called them out of their title. She was glad the man made it back to Winterfell safely from his mission. It was a close call. The men left the island just as the Dragon Queen's fleet was visible on the horizon of Dragonstone, but the smiths had already begun crafting daggers and arrowheads in droves thanks to the chests of dragonglass Ser Davos and Ser Martyn Manderly had brought back after stripping Dragonstone's mines. Jon huffed at Brienne in mock exasperation, and Sansa hid her own smile as the tall woman left the room. She was glad they got along. They were of a kind in many ways.

Jon walked into the room and shot her a smile before he gravitated towards the bassinet under the closed window. Sansa was startled at the movement. She had forgotten the children were with her. They were so unusually quiet. She stretched her neck to peek at them and relaxed when she saw they were only sleeping. Jon stared down at them with a soft smile on his lips, covering them with the blanket hanging over the side of the cradle. Sansa found herself both uncomfortable and envious. She wished it could be as easy for her as it was for him.

"How is everything?" He asked in a hushed tone as he walked back over to her, sitting on the edge of her desk.

"Everything seems in order. I've already allocated funds to pay workers to cut trees to be sent to Volantis in exchange for the food. The deal is secured, isn't it?"

"Lady Nagaea and Nobleman Manaquo have written back. They took the deal to Manaquo's brother, Triarch Malaquo, and he agreed to trade fish, grain, and wheat rather than fruit in exchange for timber and silver ore. The wheat will be better for us in the long run when true winter hits. The fruit will rot much quicker."

"Still, I would've been glad to at least have had it available in the first few months of winter before it becomes impossible to attain," Sansa replied, worry lines forming on her forehead.

"I know. I did, however, manage to haggle a shipment of lemons out of them so we can still have lemon cakes made for a while yet." Sansa looked over to her brother and quirked a reluctant smile.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's being sent as a gesture of good faith just as we are extending by sending Queen Talisa's ashes. It's separate from the trade agreement. I also got word back from the Company of the Rose. They will answer our call to face the Long Night. It's a good thing Maester Wolkan found that old history about the origin of the Company. They will bolster our numbers." Sansa nodded in understanding. The library had been burned and was not frequented, but Wolkan and Samwell were hard at work finding information. They had located an old text that spoke of the Company of the Rose, a group of Northern expatriates who formed a sellsword company in Braavos. According to the history book, the Company was created by the combined efforts of Torrhen Stark, his brother Brandon Snow, Barba Bolton and Ulrick Glover in anticipation of a second Long Night. They feared that Aegon the Conqueror would put the North in a position where they would not be able to stand against the imminent threat without an army reserve safe from the dragons. She and Jon weren't sure just how much the Company would be able to help, but any help was needed and could not be turned away thoughtlessly.

"They will be docking at White Harbor in a month from now. Their leaders will come to Winterfell to negotiate properly. There was something more present that came up though. I'm afraid I'm needed to settle a dispute at Castle Cerwyn."

"What kind of dispute?" She asked curiously, sitting back in her seat.

"Lord Clay and Lady Jonelle may be amid a power struggle that is affecting their readiness for what is to come. The castellan and the maester of the castle came asking for help. Apparently, Lady Jonelle got married to a knight of House Cerwyn, Ser Kyle Condon, without Lord Clay's permission, which he took offense to. The lady took umbrage with his offense. There was a public argument where he denounced the marriage in front of his vassals and the smallfolk, and she revealed that the affair has been going on for some time and that the knight's son, Eobard Snow, is her son as well. A fact she and her father saw fit to hide from public knowledge and from Lord Clay." Sansa silently took in all he said with a quirked eyebrow.

With all the life and death decisions to be made and the emotional unrest she had been going through for years now, she forgot such trivial drama existed in the world. Once upon a time she would've lapped it up with vicious glee and she, Jeyne and Beth would spend hours discussing the topic, but now the entire situation seemed ridiculous and childish to her. What did it matter to Lord Clay if his sister married without his permission? Lady Jonelle was a plump, shy woman in her late-30s. She was not an ideal match for most. Left to Lord Clay, she would've gotten married off to some old man with grown children, and if she did have babes, they'd inherit nothing. Her best bet in that situation would be to hope she became a widow relatively early in the marriage. In the wake of such prospects, she didn't fault the lady making her own way for herself. Sansa could see the danger in it though. With winter upon them and the Night King not far behind, the last thing they needed was a civil war from one of their principal supporters. Jon seemed to read her thoughts as he nodded understandingly.

"It's all very petty and overly dramatic. I'd rather not deal with it at all, but the castellan says there are whispers in the castle that there are those who would rather support Lady Jonelle as ruler of Castle Cerwyn since she was more vocal against Lord Medgar's murder. The maester also claims it is widely known in the castle that Lord Medgar had more faith in her to rule the keep than he did his son. He says that Lord Cerwyn not only allowed the lady's child to live but educated the child to rule in the future because it preserved their bloodline as he had no hope in Lord Clay. If the castellan of Castle Cerwyn and the maester think the situation dire enough to come to me to sort it out, I'd feel better handling it personally. The last thing we need is a civil war. Castle Cerwyn's only half a day's ride away at any rate, and I have full confidence that whatever may come up, you can handle it. The lords will follow your lead."

"Are you sure about that?" Sansa asked dubiously.

"The lords respect you more than you think they do. They give you a hard time occasionally, but they do the same to me and each other and anyone they can test their dominance with. Stand strong against them as you have been. I think you've surprised them and earned their admiration and loyalty by now."

 _Not their love though._ Sansa thought to herself. As a child, all she wanted was for her subjects to love her. She had the love of the smallfolk. Her frequent visits were met with smiles and favor. The lords were harder nuts to crack, but she would rather have their respect than love when it came down to it and she would rather they respect her for her merits, not because they feared her like they did Cersei or because she had mystical beasts at her back, like this Dragon Queen.

"There was something else that I wanted to run by you. I thought I could take the twins with me." Sansa broke from her reverie to look at Jon. He had a careful look on his face and something else she couldn't quite make out.

"Are you sure? They've never been so far from the keep."

"I know, but after Boy's sickness and you being locked away in a room alone with him for two weeks, I think you could use the break. It'll be hard enough taking on all my responsibilities on top of taking care of them, especially with Cerisse gone. Let me take them off your hands. You won't have to worry about them and maybe their presence will even make cooler heads prevail at Castle Cerwyn." Sansa hesitated for a moment. She didn't know if Jon was doing this because Davos said something to him or if he picked up something himself, but he didn't mention anything. She could read him well, she'd know if he knew. Ultimately, she did need the break away from them.

"Okay. The twins can tag along with you."

"Good. Don't worry too much while we're gone. I promise I'll bring the babes back in one piece."

"I know you will." Sansa was not worried at all. She was relieved.

**~*~*~**

Jon rode out of Winterfell at sunrise a few days later with Ghost at his side, a group of 20 men at his back and the twins and a wetnurse riding in a small carriage behind. Sansa saw him off early that morn and then returned to her bed to sleep. She slept soundly for hours, deeper sleep than she had had in months.

**~*~*~**

With Jon and the twins gone, Sansa set to the task of focusing on the kingdom. She held court every day, settling grievances between the smallfolk and assuaging concerns about the coming struggles hurtling towards the North. She encouraged those displaced among the smallfolk to seek employment under the crown working on the long-houses or collecting the timber and silver ore in the mountains for trade. She also sent out people into the Winter Town to perform a census so they knew who needed to be placed in the long-houses and who might just need their homes to be fortified. She implored Lord Glover, Lady Mormont and the other lords that remained in Winterfell to do the same with their smallfolk.

She had figured out a daily routine for herself. After she held court, listening to supplicants and the current concerns of the people, Sansa would walk the keep making sure preparations were on schedule and allow an opportunity for any questions to be asked of her by the members of the household. She made sure to monitor the kitchens for the food being prepared for the larders and stores. She inspected the breastplates to be sure they were being covered with wool properly. She checked the progress of the blacksmiths with their forging of the dragonglass weapons. She watched over the training being done in the yard by the men, women, and children who were learning to kill wights, as well as people. She would then take twenty minutes to be on her own in the godswood before jumping back into it.

She would hold a meeting after midday meal to deliberate with the lords of the North and the Vale. After that, she would meet with Maester Wolkan and Samwell to glean any new information from them that could prove useful in their war with the Night King. Next, she would spend an hour with Gilly and Little Sam if he was about. She and Gilly would talk about anything besides the work Sansa was doing. They would sew and drink tea and enjoy each other's company before Sansa retreated to her solar to go over any ravens that were sent.

They usually consisted of messages from the lords of the Vale or the North pledging their support and offering or asking for supplies for winter. They periodically received a letter from King's Landing demanding that she and Jon come to the capital and bend the knee to Cersei or be branded traitors to the realm. There was no way Sansa was going back to that cesspool. Jon wasn't going either. She wasn't going to lose any more members of her family to the Lannisters. They also received regular updates from Lord Commander Tollett at the Wall on the progress of the White Walkers. Sightings of wights were becoming more and more frequent, but they had only seen the White Walkers less than a handful of times, and they were not as close to the Wall as they feared. They were stalling at Milkwater and Giant's Stairs for some reason.

There had been the odd letters of importance that did come up, messages that she and Jon would usually handle together. Uncle Edmure had written asking for help rooting out the Lannister forces roaming the Riverlands. A consensus still had not been reached among the North and the Vale about what to do about the Riverlands. Sansa sent a raven telling him that they were getting reinforcements, the Company of the Rose from Braavos, and when they arrived, they could gauge the numbers they had then and give him a more definite answer of when forces could be sent and how many.

She had also found a letter from Dragonstone among the pile, from Tyrion Lannister, Hand-of-the-Queen to Daenerys Targaryen, imploring Jon to come to Dragonstone, bend the knee and fight Cersei alongside them. Sansa hesitated upon that letter. Knowing Jon, he'd want to go try to negotiate with the woman, even though they knew little to nothing about her save for the fact that she had three giant dragons and her family had killed theirs during the Rebellion. Then she remembered that she oversaw the North now, Jon gave her the power to manage things and it was within her rights to answer this letter how she saw fit. She sent a reply declining the invitation and refusing to bend the knee or involve the North with any wars in the south.

At night, she would sleep comfortably in her bed, not worrying about jumping up to check on the twins in the middle of the night, pleased with the work she was doing. She wanted Jon to return because it was lonely without family at Winterfell, but she was not upset with her circumstances at the moment.

**~*~*~**

Sansa sat at the high table of the Great Hall receiving petitioners, Ser Davos sitting on her right-hand side, Maester Wolkan sitting on her left and Brienne standing behind her. She listened as grievances were brought forward: an argument over ownership of a cow, a dispute over borders, a disagreement between a madame and a brothel-keep over the owner taking more from the whores working there than was agreeable. Sansa mediated it all and more. This was not the first time she had done this. She sat with Jon at the high table many times, but she was giving advice to him so he could decide, now she was the one making decisions and the sense of power and control it gave her wasn't an unwelcome feeling. A part of her wondered if it wasn't too close to the lust for power Cersei had, but she wasn't wielding power just to have it, she was doing so to help others, so she did not feel too bad that she liked what she was doing.

She felt she was good at it. She treated the minor things with just as much care as the more significant issues. The most noteworthy decision she had had to make had come a week after Jon left. Jaime Lannister was spotted with a host of Lannister soldiers marching towards Winterfell under a peace flag. He had claimed he and his men were there to answer the call Jon sent out about the wights, to help defend the realm. Sansa didn't trust the man as far as she could throw him. He was a Lannister, he attacked her father in the streets, he had caused the deaths of many Northmen, but the fact that he came in answer to Jon's raven was meant to erase all that. She doubted his actions were for honor or charity. He had left Cersei behind following her stunt with the wildfire. He wouldn’t be safe from her in the west or the south, and with the Dragon Queen making landfall in the east, the North was the only place left for him to go on the continent.

Brienne had been the one to vouch for him. She argued that he took a risk coming to Winterfell and they needed men, so why turn him away? She reasoned that if he and his could not be trusted in Winterfell, then they should be sent to the Wall. That was where they were needed. Sansa could not fault the logic. She didn't know what the nature of Brienne's relationship with Ser Jaime was. There was a look in her eye when she spoke of him that Sansa misliked. It was too star-crossed and love-soaked. She would've thought Brienne knew better than to fall for a man like Jaime Lannister, but she did trust her lady knight. Brienne was a woman who forged her own way in the world, who had a goal for herself and achieved it despite all the muck and mire she had to crawl through to get there. Of all the people Sansa had met over the years, Brienne was probably the person she was grateful for crossing paths with the most. There were many people in this castle she would never open her mouth to speak her doubts to, but Brienne was not one of them. She had been the first person Sansa told of her pregnancy for a reason. She trusted her with her secrets, and she hoped Brienne trusted her. She was a constant silent companion, her protective aura calming Sansa enough for her to walk with her back straight because she knew someone was always watching it for her. Perhaps it was stupid to put her trust in someone so much. Her experiences had warned her against it, but she trusted Brienne nonetheless, so Jaime Lannister got to keep drawing breath and make his way to the Wall thanks to Brienne.

Sansa tuned back into the room, listening to reports from the outlying towns. During the parade of petitioners, there was a girl in the crowd that caught her attention. She looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't think she had seen her at a meeting before. She had dark brown hair braided down her back, but the way her hair was styled, despite its Northern simplicity, harkened more to the Reach than the North. She had dark green eyes the color of leaves and wore a black dress with white accents. She stood next to a pretty woman with light brown hair and brown eyes and Lord Glover. She kept one ear on the person petitioning her but found herself looking at the girl more than once. She wondered why the girl seemed so familiar and grabbed her attention. There were those who resembled people she knew in her youth within Winterfell, but she was not as drawn to them. The brunette was pretty enough, though not as attractive as the woman she stood beside. She looked unassuming and could easily blend into a room full of Northern ladies, but her eyes were bright and observant, switching around the Great Hall to watch everyone. She briefly floated the idea that the girl might be a spy but dismissed it. She was Northern and appeared to know Lord Glover since the man bent down to whisper into her ear periodically, eliciting a nod from the younger woman. The girl caught her gaze at one point and held Sansa's eyes in an intense staring match before the redhead looked away.

Sansa handled all the smallfolk before the lords and ladies began coming forward with their concerns. She sat up straight when the girl and her party came forward with Lord Glover.

"Princess, may I present to you a member of one of my vassals, House Forrester. This is Lady Mira. With her is Lady Elaena Glenmore of Rillwater Crossing." Recognition flashed through her mind as the two women curtsied to her.

"Ah, yes. Lady Mira. We met at King's Landing. You were one of Queen Margaery's handmaidens if I remember correctly."

"I was for a time, Princess." The brunette verified.

"It is good to see you in good health. Please, state your business."

"The reason I come here to petition the crown is in the matter of my family's ancestral home, Ironrath, which is still being occupied by the Bolton loyalists, House Whitehill. The Battle of the Bastards was over a year ago, yet the Whitehills remain, having taken over portions of the wolfswood. I hear rumors that they have access to the Dreadfort, keeping up the vile traditions of the Red Kings there, still holding prisoners, among them my family's men." Sansa paused, taking this in. She knew in the back of her mind that there may still be Bolton loyalists in the North, but she had not wanted anything to do with the Dreadfort. Jon had told her it wasn't just the keep, but the surrounding land that was hers by right of marriage, but she had chosen to send no men to investigate. She had turned a blind eye because she didn't like looking back at that time.

 _I should've been more attentive._ Sansa chastised herself.

"I'm sorry for your troubles, Lady Mira. Where are the rest of your family at present? Are they all prisoners of the Whitehills?"

"Only my younger brother, Ryon, remains a prisoner. He is a boy of ten. My father, Lord Gregor, died at the Red Wedding. My older brother, Rodrik, died at the Battle of Ironrath at the hands of the Whitehills when they took the castle, allowing my younger sister to get away along with Lady Elaena, Rodrik's betrothed, and our half-siblings, Josera and Elsera. Ethan was killed by the bastard, Ramsay Snow, through no provocation of his own. I had to flee King's Landing after an assassin was sent to murder me. I managed to kill the man, a Lannister guardsman, and would have been beheaded for it if not for Lady Olenna Tyrell's intervention and Queen Cersei's preoccupation with the Faith Militant. I have another older brother, Asher. He was previously exiled but was brought back after the Red Wedding to fight against the Whitehills."

"Why was he exiled?" Sansa asked curiously. Lady Mira's face screwed up a little in displeasure.

"He began an affair with Gwyn Whitehill, and it caused our two families to come to blows. My father exiled him to avoid any further bloodshed. Lady Gwyn, she is… she is not a bad person, not cruel like her brothers and her father. I've received word from her that she is doing her best to care for Ryon while he is being held captive." Lord Glover took over now.

"Lord Asher believes that with Lady Gwyn on the inside, we can make a play to get back Ironrath. She holds no love for her menfolk and would be willing to aid us in overthrowing them, but the numbers at present are not in our favor. House Whitehill have 200 men-at-arms, plus the Bolton forces still holed up at the Dreadfort, which could be as much as 300 themselves. Ironrath only has 30 men-at-arms and 10 archers along with 30 Meereenese fighters that joined Asher on his journey back from exile. The Forrester army was all but decimated at the Red Wedding, and the Battle at Ironrath culled much of the rest of it. The smallfolk population that could've picked up arms to make up for it was put to the sword by Ludd Whitehill and his sons. Many of the men of House Glover are already en route to the Wall to restore and occupy Greyguard, but I have pledged 100 men to the cause. Lord Glenmore has sent much of his men to the Wall with Lord Ryswell's to restore and occupy Stonedoor. He has pledged 70 men-at-arms, but that still puts us at a deficit of at least 260 soldiers less than what the Whitehills have."

Sansa turned to Maester Wolkan and Lord Davos to deliberate.

"A lot of our men are starting to make their way to the Wall as well, Princess. Perhaps it'll be more prudent to wait for the Company of the Rose to arrive." Davos suggested.

"The Company's attention needs to be on the Wall, and I will need them in the Riverlands as well. I do not want them to be spread too thinly. How many men remain in Winterfell?" She asked.

"600 men-at-arms, 70 guardsmen." Maester Wolkan answered. Sansa took a moment to think. She was not going to leave Winterfell defenseless by sending all her men to Ironrath. That was how the Ironborn managed to take the keep during the War of the Five Kings, but as the Princess of the North and the technical overlord of the Whitehills, it was her duty to bring them to heel. She cleared her throat and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"I will send 200 of our men to fight with your forces to take back your home, Lady Mira. We will retrieve Ironrath, and once that is done, I will root the Whitehills out of Highpoint and any man bearing a Bolton banner out of the wolfswood. As the Princess in the North, the rightful Lady of the Dreadfort and the overlord of all its vassals, I, Sansa of House Stark before all you lords and ladies and in the name of my brother, the king, denounce them and attaint them. I strip them of all ranks and titles, all lands and holdings and brand them traitors to the crown." Murmuring filled the room at her words.

"Princess, is that not heavy-handed?" Lord Lightfoot protested. He was a slight old man of meek disposition. The lord had only pledged a token force to Robb during the War of the Five Kings and had not fought with Jon and Sansa. He remained in Winterfell because she didn't trust him. He didn't come off as traitorous, just cowardly. It was better to keep a man like that close.

"How so? Do you not agree that these men are traitors to the North, acting under the banner of a derided and now extinct house who installed themselves as Wardens of the North by way of treason?"

"I do not deny this at all. It was a good day when the last man bearing the Bolton name was wiped off the face of the Earth, I only mean that with all the threats the North is facing, perhaps it would be better to avoid a fight."

"Excuse me my lord, but the Whitehills started this fight when they attacked my family and killed my brother." Lady Mira protested.

"You are but a girl, what could you truly know of war? And why does your living brother send you to do his petitioning for him?" Lord Lightfoot said dismissively. Lady Mira's face darkened.

"Asher is busy taking care of the people who are counting on us for protection. He has been keeping them and our siblings fed, clothed and sheltered even though we are displaced and have been rendered homeless during what is sure to be a horrible winter. And, contrary to your belief, I know quite a bit about war and its horrors. I saw my father's body after the Red Wedding. I watched Ramsay Bolton plunge a knife into my younger brother's neck and leave him to bleed out on the floor like he was nothing. I saw my older brother's flayed body hanging outside the walls of our home, the people who I'd grown up with and who looked to my father for guidance slaughtered in droves, their homes burned down for no reason other than that they lived where they lived. I am no warrior, but my father was a warrior, my brothers were warriors. They fought by King Robb's side, they fought for the North, and they died for it too." Sansa looked at the lady with renewed interest. There was something about her indignation and the ferocity of her retort that made her seem even more beautiful than she looked upon first glance.

"And I would not see their deaths be left in vain," Sansa said. Lady Mira looked back at her as if studying her. Sansa was not sure what she was looking for.

"King Jon offered mercy to House Umber and House Karstark rather than disinheriting them or wiping the families out. Should not House Whitehill have that opportunity if you are to be throwing clemency out to any traitor who kneels?" Lady Barbrey asked, her tone steady but her face betraying a sense of distaste.

Lady Barbrey always seemed angry at Jon and Sansa for one thing or other. Lady Marna Locke told Sansa privately that ostensibly it was because she had hated their father for not bringing her lord husband, Willem Dustin's, remains back from the Tower of Joy, but in truth, it was because she loved their Uncle Brandon and Lady Barbrey felt like their father stole their uncle's life. Her anger extended to them as a result. Jon had been the one to be most cautious about her. He likened her to Alliser Thorne, who hated Jon because their father defeated him in the Rebellion and counseled King Robert to banish him to the Wall. Sansa didn't think Lady Barbrey was likely to plunge a dagger in their guts, but she did not support them as much as she should. Just like Lord Lightfoot, she sent a token force to aid Robb, and no Dustin man had begun to make their way to the Wall yet.

"King Jon offered clemency to House Karstark and House Umber because Alys Karstark and Ned Umber humbled themselves and renewed their vows. I didn't agree with it in the beginning, but they did not just kneel, they have proven most valuable. Their men have already all but restored Oakenshield and Woodswatch-by-the-Pool and have garrisoned the Wall. They brought much-needed supplies to the men of the Night's Watch. Much more than House Dustin has if I recall correctly. I thought your men would have marched with your father's forces. I'm sure they are still preparing and conserving their strength and will soon take command of Long Barrow with much vigor. Doubtless, the castle shall be habitable and watching for our enemies to the north quicker than any castle on the Wall given how much rest they've had." Lady Barbrey's face looked as if she had just sucked a lemon and Sansa caught Lady Mira hiding a smirk.

"The men in question are in open rebellion against the crown, but if it assuages any doubts, I shall offer any man who surrenders himself a fair trial. Any who don't come to turn themselves in within a week of the ravens being sent to the keeps will be considered wanted fugitives and will be treated as such. Are there any objections to this?" Sansa asked, sparing Lord Lightfoot a look. The man opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Marna spoke first.

"I say any man holed up at the Dreadfort or holding Ironrath has had more than enough time to pledge themselves to Princess Sansa and King Jon, and they have chosen not to." The middle-aged woman pointed out.

"Aye, let them hang." Lord Slate agreed. Soon more and more lords and ladies were voicing their agreement. Sansa took note of the ones who were not before speaking again.

"Maester Wolkan, please send the ravens immediately. It would please me, my ladies, if you stayed here at Winterfell. My brother will be back shortly, and we can then strategize fully on a plan of attack." The two women curtsied again.

"Thank you for your hospitality and your kindness, Princess." Sansa nodded to Lady Mira.

"Do join me for dinner. We can talk more." Sansa said before she could stop herself. Lady Mira intrigued her, she wanted to know her better.

~*~*~

"Princess." Lady Mira said in deference when Sansa opened the door to her solar later that evening. The lady wore a black dress with a white collar and sleeves embroidered with the black branches of an ironwood tree.

"My lady, please come in. Will Lady Elaena not be joining us?" She asked, closing the door behind the brunette.

"I'm afraid not. El is not feeling well and has taken to bed early."

"I hope she will feel better soon. Please sit." Mira sat across from Sansa at the small table. Sansa took a moment to study her. She was shorter than her by at least 5 inches. Her long brunette hair was dark but not so much that it looked black and hung in loose curls. Her eyes were dark green, and her skin was like porcelain with delicate freckles dusting over her cheeks, forehead and broad nose. Some might find the size of her nose to be a deficit. Mira had a dimple on her chin that left an indent that was not deep enough to make her double-chinned. Her lips were plump and looked soft. She was pretty, Sansa maintained, perhaps more beautiful up-close than she had given her credit for, but not the kind of girl to attract attention in a room to the point where she could not blend into the shadows. Something told Sansa the lady might prefer that. She was no Margaery Tyrell, so it boggled the mind why this conventionally pleasant-faced, nondescript girl drew Sansa's attention.

"Is there something on my face, Princess?" Lady Mira asked.

"I wasn't staring, was I?"

"You were."

"My apologies. I was in my own head for a moment."

"Thinking of what, if I may ask."

"Margaery Tyrell," Sansa said after a moment's hesitation.

"I didn't see her for quite some time after I fled King's Landing. She was kind to me, and we grew close. I was saddened to hear of her death."

"As was I, Princess. She was a good lady. She was kind and helped others where she could. We were close as well. I was disheartened to hear of her and Ser Loras' fate. King's Landing is a cruel place. I do not miss it."

"I don't think many do. I certainly do not. The North is home. Despite the many challenges facing it, I'd rather be nowhere else." Sansa admitted.

"Highgarden was beautiful, and I loved it more than I thought I would, but being back in the North has given me a sense of peace I never knew there, even without being back at Ironrath."

"I feel I must apologize to you personally for that. I am the Lady of the Dreadfort and of its surrounding lands. I have paid no mind to my vassals and their activities, and it has resulted in losses for you. I am sorry for that." Sansa said, reaching across the table to lay her hand over Lady Mira's.

"Your apology is appreciated, Princess, but unnecessary. You did not take my home or kill my family. In fact, I wept tears of joy when I heard that Ramsay Bolton was dead. I hope he suffered."

"He did, my lady. He suffered greatly."

"Good." There was a finality in the lady's voice that resonated with Sansa. She turned her hand over under Sansa's, so their fingers were intertwined. Sansa looked into her green eyes questioningly, but before she could speak, the door opened, and her handmaiden, Hilly, came in with a food-laden tray. The two women pulled apart and allowed the girl to place the dishes onto the table between them before Sansa dismissed her. They ate, trading happy stories about their childhoods, but also about their adverse experiences with the Lannisters and the Boltons. Sansa felt she had met a kindred spirit in Lady Mira the longer they spoke.

"May I be frank with you, my lady?"

"Just Mira."

"Mira. I felt upon seeing you that I must know more about you. It's been a while since I met a Northern woman who I think just might understand what I've gone through, having been trapped in King's Landing and had the distinct displeasure of dealing with Ramsay Bolton. But also, a Northern woman who might share my feelings on the merit of some of the more southern ideals. In that, what I mean to say is I think you have more guile and wit about yourself than you let on." The barest hint of surprise and caution crossed the brunette's face.

"How so, Princess?"

"Any fool could fall victim to what King's Landing is. Even the smartest could fall inside its gullet to never escape again. Look at Queen Margaery if you ever doubt it. But you survived."

"As did you." Sansa quirked a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"I managed to get home, yes. Not unchanged." Various emotions passed over Mira's face before she met her eyes again.

"What is it you truly want from me, Princess?"

"I want to know if I can trust you," Sansa answered honestly.

"Have you decided?"

"No. I'm sure you can understand my reticence though."

"I can."

"So, I would like to pick your mind instead. What do you think of what you have seen in Winterfell so far? What do you think of the lords and ladies? What have you heard before you came here? What whispers have gotten past my purview and reached your ears?" Sansa asked casually, sipping from her wine goblet. Lady Mira sipped from hers as well, her eyes never leaving Sansa's.

"And what will I gain from answering these questions?"

"Whether or not you answer correctly, I have already promised to send men to Ironrath's aid. I will not renege on that, you have my word."

"There is a correct way to answer your questions." The lady stated rather than questioned.

"There is, and if you answer these questions correctly, I'd like for there to be a place here in Winterfell for you. I'd be grateful for your eyes. I can tell they see much, but it's just a question of whether you understand what you see in a way that benefits the North." The lady seemed to take Sansa's words as a challenge. She leaned over the table, her eyes intensely staring into the redhead's.

"Winterfell is a fortress, you can see it miles away, but you can't see the cracks and the burns on the walls until you're practically outside. The castle is being rebuilt and so is the town, showing the new blood taking over, the reinvigoration in the castle and the people. The commonfolk love you and the king, can't sing your praises any higher. Yes, they speak of the generosity and kindness of the king, but frequently they mention their princess's frequent visits into town and her attentiveness to their needs. The image of a kind, charitable noblewoman. Margaery played that role well. I see the influence she has had on you. It's a better way to rule than the cruelty Queen Cersei inspires. The kindness will afford you loyalty. The loyalty of the people anyway." Sansa stood up as Lady Mira spoke, bringing her wine with her as she strolled towards the fire.

"Keep speaking."

"The lords and ladies are more difficult. There are always those loyal to a name without question: House Mormont, House Hornwood and House Mazin who fought with you to retake Winterfell. The mountain clans, though largely independent, will always stand by the Starks of Winterfell. The crannogmen are the same: reclusive, but loyal. House Umber and House Karstark are more on pins and needles than ever. I highly doubt young Ned Umber or Alys Karstark have any aspirations towards anything but restoring their houses' standing in the eyes of the North, but who can say for those who surround them? House Manderly will continue to be loyal. Lord Wyman will always have a fierce allegiance to House Stark, but if his loyalty improves his house's standing, it would be appreciated. House Tallhart is putting itself back together after the war, the same as House Glover, there is little time for greater aspirations. I think you sent a clear message when you arranged Lady Eddara's marriage with Lord Brandon rather than King Jon: keep the lords at bay, keep your options open, but let them know loyalty will not be bartered for with marriage."

"And who do you see as our greatest challenges?" Sansa asked, sitting in her chair by the fire, her wine held aloft.

"The Rills and the Barrowlands are where you will have your greatest issue. Lady Barbrey's distaste for your house is great. She led the region to support House Bolton. More than that, she has no heirs. After her death, who rules the Barrowlands? And she has too great a hold over her father's actions, she whispers poison in his ears. He will support you with men, but who knows how she will hinder the other support you could have from the Rills? Already Lord Lightfoot is a problem. Lord Slate remains here as does Lady Locke, Lord Overton and Lord Stout, I would assume so you can keep an eye on them. They were much too invested in pleasing the Boltons. However, while I suspect Lord Lightfoot and Lord Stout are bootlickers or cowards who will flit to whoever they think will elevate them, Lady Locke, Lord Overton, and Lord Slate lost much of their forces and simply was trying to preserve their houses and their people." Sansa glanced over as Lady Mira stood and made her way to the fire, sitting in the seat across from Sansa gracefully.

"The people whisper about the king's origins. A motherless bastard named Snow, but he is also the blood of Ned Stark and so, bastard or no, his honour is presumed to be intact. He is lauded for his battle prowess and his sense of duty. And then there is you. The lords don't all have a consensus about you. They all know King Jon loves and respects you. They know you have his ear, so you are seen as both a threat to them and a possible ally and yet, I suspect, none has approached you to try to make a friend of you."

"Why do you suppose that is?"

"Speaking frankly, I think you scare them." Sansa rose an eyebrow at that.

"Me?" She asked incredulously.

"You are the woman who fed Ramsay Bolton, the man all those high lords and ladies feared too much to speak against, to the dogs like he was a mere trifle. It is known that you are fielding marriage proposals sent to the king, that you may have more say in that than even the king himself. You sit in on council meetings and war rooms, there are no secrets held from you. You rule along with the king. I'm sure a few of them would love to possess you, to gain power from such a marriage, and yet none approach you. They respect you, but they don't know what to make of you, and that scares them." Mira paused then, seemingly deciding whether to say what was on her mind next.

"You have spoken plainly to this point, my lady. You've no cause to stop now."

"Just, one thing that has permeated the lords' chatter that I now see to be completely true: you are exceptionally beautiful, princess." Sansa watched as the lady's cheeks glowed red, and not from the fire. Sansa was sure her cheeks were doing the same.

"You seek to flatter me, but to what end?"

"It is not flattery, simply the truth. As for my intentions… you were staring at me, and it was not just because you recognised me. You desire me." Sansa let out a startled chuckle.

"You are most bold."

"Am I wrong in my observations?" Mira challenged.

"I would like to offer you a place here as my handmaiden. Of course, I would expect that you use the eyes and ears you have been gifted with for my benefit." Sansa said rather than answering the question, though that was enough of an answer.

"I could do that. Again though, I would be giving up my chance to go home, what incentives do you offer?"

"That depends on what incentive you're trying to gain." Lady Mira looked upon her intensely, her green eyes darker under the firelight. She looked like a temptress in the red light, the kind stories claimed Gods sent to holy men to test their resolve. The men in the stories almost always broke. Sansa felt an odd kinship with those men now.

"I'm not in the habit of bartering with my body, and I'm not going to start now." Lady Mira's eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"I don't want your body in exchange for being your handmaiden." Her face crumbled a little from that mask of seduction into something more vulnerable.

"I want you because I think you understand." She mumbled before shaking her head and standing up.

"I was presumptuous. I will be your handmaiden. I am honoured by your favour. I will leave you to your peace." The brunette turned to scurry out of the room. Sansa stared after her for a moment before speaking.

"Stop." Mira reluctantly turned to her, her face hot from blushing.

"Understand what?" The brunette shrugged a little.

"What it feels like to be so starved for the right kind of touch from the right kind of person, that as you soon as you meet them, you're desperate for the encounter not to end. Being in King's Landing was terrifying, because unlike in the Reach, to be the kind of woman I am, a woman who desires the company of other women, was much more likely to get me thrown into a dungeon or locked away with a septon wishing to cleanse me of my unclean thoughts. And if it were discovered by the wrong person, then it would be used against me in more ways than one. I took one look at you, and I knew. I knew you were as repressed as I am. You haven't had a soft touch in a long time." Sansa assessed the lady with a calculating gaze. She looked sincere, which could be a mask, but Sansa would've been able to see past it. She could tell from the slump in Mira's shoulders and the openness of her face that she spoke the truth.

Mira was right in her estimation. The last touch Sansa had that wasn't her own was Ramsay, and he had been anything but soft. She didn't think she could stomach being underneath a man without thinking about what he did to her, but another part of her loathed that he had taken something so precious away from her, took so much control from her. He made it so her body wasn't her own and then when she had killed him, her body still wasn't hers, but belonged to his children. Even up until now, she didn't feel like she was in complete ownership of herself. She gazed at Lady Mira indecisively for a moment longer.

"Lock the door and take off your clothes."

**Author's Note:**

> I have much more planned for this verse, and some things already written out. The goal with this chapter but more so future chapters is to get across Sansa's complicated feelings on her pregnancy and her children in an unbiased way and the complex relationships that will follow from their birth, as well as the ones that resulted from Jon's birth decades prior. It depends on what the response to this story is, so comments would be much appreciated.


End file.
